


The Unlucky

by mvllorylvngdon



Category: American Horror Story
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Clash of the Supremes (as I call it), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hawthorne!Michael, Robichaux!Mallory, Slow Burn, Treason, pre apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-08-25 05:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 51,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvllorylvngdon/pseuds/mvllorylvngdon
Summary: What if instead of having gone to California, Michael and his mentors from Hawthorne had gone down to New Orleans? There is a war brewing, an unimaginable source of power rising and a traitor at our midst. Not to mention… a certain love affair with an unchangeable ill fate.





	1. To See The Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! My first multichapter fic for my favorite pairing in the universe, Millory. I believe the last time I tried to go and write a fanfic for a couple I shipped was for Caspian x Susan about seven years ago, another pair that never sailed. I posted this originally on Tumblr (find me at my user, which is the same as my AO3 user) and the response was such I had to move it here. For me it's a pleasure to share this little story, I will have to take a major turn for this one as the finale ruined my initial plans, but we will get there! Lots of love, Carrie.   
> PS. Excuse any mistakes, I tend to write late at night and I'm blind as a bat, besides, I wasn't much of a proofreader back when I started posting this on Tumblr. And I'm too lazy to do it now.

     The heavy scent of sugar filled the otherwise crisp air of The Academy’s lily-white kitchen. White walls, white tiles, smooth wooden countertops. Tossed right over them, sprawled somewhat carelessly inside the sink with remains of dough and flour, were numerous utensils and molds of all kinds; it was the orgy of evidence of some baking madness taking place at the premises. Berries and pieces of chocolate (some were missing halves, because our master chefs could not resist the temptation of sinking their teeth in the creamy treats) were also tossed over a plate, alongside little flowers made of sugar in tones of pastel.  


    “Okay, now, I want you to try it and tell me if it needs any more vanilla” said Mallory, a little ghost of flour covering her left cheek made it look like she was aiming for a look only worthy of Marie Antoinette of France. She was not feeling too aristocratic, however “I have the feeling I went a little too hard with the lemon”

    Standing in front of her, Coco snickered with a little amused gleam in her eyes. She had been talking to her for quite some time now trying to convince her of being her little helper, Zoe had sufficed in the past but apparently she had greater matters to tend to and Mallory could not pretend to make her drop it all just because she suddenly felt like baking. Madison and Queenie had lost their desires to do so once the time to do the dishes came, and Myrtle, well, she was just as busy as Zoe, if not even more so.

    The blonde in front of her reached out and sunk her finger in the mix, coating it with a considerable amount of pale frosting; this earned her a little look of disapproval from the other, having prefered her to use a spoon, instead “Ugh, shit” she moaned before she even swallowed, mouth full “Mal, this tastes too good!”

    To be fair, Coco loved just about everything with copious amounts of sugar. It was funny to see her shrinking her nose in frustration, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as she pushed whatever plate she had in front of her far and away. Her talent was quite… peculiar, Coco could calculate the exact amount of calories in whatever edible thing was put in front of her; at times Mallory would turn around to look at her with her mouth full of pasta, a funny grimace on Coco’s face, as she ate with anything but her best manners. Thin as she was she didn’t desire to worry over the amount of calories her body was processing, she did just enough exercise — the young witch liked to think so.

    “Thanks” she smiled sheepishly.

    It was quite the unlikely friendship, the one of Mallory and Coco. One of them was entitled, bratty, loud at best and crass at worst; the other was happy roaming the Earth with light steps, wanting nothing from anybody, simply trying to find out why she was put where she was, to begin with. But opposites attract, she guessed, and as Madison and Zoe seemed to fit like peanut butter and jelly, Mallory and Coco were chocolate and mint. Alright, enough with the food analogies.

    The two witches cleaned up the mess, using magic for the most part as the task at hand was rather tedious, and even if it was somewhat relaxing to bake and clean, Mallory found no peace of mind. She was far too shy at times to question was what going on around her, and she hadn’t seen Cordelia in days, it was starting to worry her. And if there was something that had to be reckoned with, was that Mallory’s concern was something that kept gnawing and gnawing at her skin until it reached the bone. She needed answers.

    “Um, Coco?” she asked quietly.

     “Yeah, baby?”

    “Listen, I…” Mallory looked down at her half-eaten shortcake, while Coco herself kept stuffing her face with chocolate puffs “…I haven’t seen Cordelia in days,” she continued “I was wondering if maybe you knew where she could possibly be”

    A part of her was certain, by the look on her face, that Coco was not even aware of her absence.

    “Well, no….” the older witch shrugged her shoulders and swallowed thick, eyes glued to the window as they both make their way to the dining table with a plate filled with goods for each “Y’know, I’m not half as close to her as you are”

    Hints of not jealousy but complicity were lacing her words, it was no secret Mallory had caused quite a good impression. Everybody knew it, in fact, everyone had witnessed at some point the power of Mallory and how natural and unaffected her abilities were; to make butterflies out of roses, bring dead animals back to life, to answer the most difficult questions with confidence, nailing them all, with not a bit of arrogance in her but a naturality that was unheard of. Cordelia was impressed, of course, and it often turned to Mallory for some simple conversation. Mallory loved talking to her, there was this strange motherly warmth that  _oozed_ from her drove her to seek for her opinion and advice quite often. Truth be told, Mallory missed her when she was gone.

    She missed all of them. From Myrtle to Zoe, she had grown so fond of them all in such little time she feared losing them more than she feared screwing up and ending up at the stake turned into crispy Salemander barbeque. The rest of the students were also close, but it was either their immaturity or their bashfulness what kept them at bay and far from her inner circle; she would have loved to have them all, care for them all, joke with them all. The cookies, shortcakes, puffs and muffins were part of her little plot to gain their trust and good faith. Mallory even smiled at them with pursed lips as their walked into the kitchen and walked out with some goods for their own. Two of them, Nina and Moira, came out giggling and humming at the taste.

    “Hi, Mallory” they said at the unison.

    She smiled brightly this time “Hi, guys”

    “Hi guys” said Coco, well, at least that’s what they could make out of their mouth full of food.

    The hazel-eyed witch stared at the table as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world, then she looked back up to meet Coco’s curious gaze, it felt as though she always knew what she was about to come up with something, or spill some hot tea.

    “You know, I am really trying very hard to earn their approval”

    Coco’s face shifted into a friendly, empathetic one “Oh, honey, but you do have their approval! You’re about ten times more talented and powerful than most of us combined” the little glare she gave to the treat she was eating was enough of a reference of her dislike to her own power “there is no need for you to worry”

    Mallory sighed, toying with the last bit of food in her hand, already craving to grab the next one. And maybe another two. She was eating out of nervousness, a habit she had adopted from her companion.

    “Yes, I know!” her voice was low, frustrated and breathy “But sometimes I feel like there’s something that’s being kept from me and when they’re away, even if I know it’s got nothing to do with any of us and that it is their duty, I start wondering if maybe I scared them off!”

      “ _Wow_ , you _do_  care a lot about what they think” said Coco, perplexed, eyes widened.  
  
     “They’re the only family I feel like I belong to” she confessed, “I don’t want to let them down.”

    While they were deep into their conversation, fellow witch and friend Madison Montgomery was slowly making her way up the stairs cursing her high heels under her breath. Her hair was disheveled, her spirits were low, and all she was begging for was to get something to eat before she collapsed on her bed in the same room she had been sharing with Zoe ever since she reappeared. Two of the girls had recently returned, and it was almost impossible for Mallory to comprehend they had been brought back from the very dead. It was all kept very hush-hush, in a way, two weeks they had been around until Cordelia went missing in action again taking both of the new (old) girls with her again. Mallory felt stupid for not thinking about it sooner, but she didn’t know them well enough to ask them too many questions, she merely enjoyed their company. In she came, dressed in black and sporting a weary face, attacking Coco’s plate before her surprised eyes, flopping onto one of the chairs from the dining table while pinching into her cupcake, grabbing it by piece by piece.  _God, Mallory’s baking was a phenomenon already._

    “Don’t worry about that” she mused, had she been eavesdropping? “Cordelia had some matters to tend to before returning, some hocus pocus shit going down in California. We’re all back now”

    Mallory’s face flushed with relief “Thank God…” a pause, “where is she?”

    Madison kept her eyes glued to what she was eating, rather averting their looks’ as who fear to answer a question, yet bearing her characteristic annoyed demeanor “Downstairs, with our new visitors”

    Coco and Mallory exchanged a look that needed no context nor explanation. They were trying to decide which one of them was going to peek out and see who was supposed to be downstairs with Cordelia. Coco raised her eyebrows and shrugged once her shoulders, it didn’t seem like she was feeling like standing up. Mallory was not feeling too willing, herself, but she needed to see what was going on.

     _Visitors? Like, they were staying here? At Robichaux?_ Now that was odd. Mallory was already conspiring inside of her head, building scenarios of the possible identities of the new witches; perhaps they were going to stay for the weekend, or the entire week. Perhaps they had answers on how Madison and Queenie came back to life. The witch stood up and quickly made her way out, while Coco’s curious gaze followed her, and Madison’s showed nothing but dread. There was something about it she disliked, and Mallory was blissfully unaware. The light-haired girl stopped just a second to grab a shortcake from the counter, one with tiny pieces of apple chopped on top with sugar and cinnamon as frosting.

     _Delia, Delia, Delia._  Her mind was singing like a cheerful lullaby. She had missed her so! And she had so much to tell her, too, she was hoping she liked the shortcake enough, it seemed like a good ice breaker, she highly doubted all the visitors had stayed for too long in the foyer, but yet again she was mistaken.

    Several things happened all at once: the witch came sauntering down with an apple cinnamon shortcake in hand, while a mild discussion took place just a few feet away. Ariel Augustus, quite a considerably powerful warlock, stood there stern-faced in front of Cordelia muttering something between his teeth. Still, Cordelia was the first thing Mallory saw; there she stood tall and graceful, but even from a few feet away Mallory could sense there was something off with her, the spark that usually surrounded her had dimmed down slightly, she wanted to credit that to the obnoxious bickering she unfortunately happened to walk, rather prance, into.

    “I’ve told you once and I’ve told you twice, Cordelia” he hissed, “His place is at Hawthorne. It’s where his fellow warlocks are, is where we are, is where he was formed”

    Cordelia seemed unbothered “Well if your boy happens to be as stellar and as _gifted_ as you suggest, Ariel, then I presume it would be no problem for him to perform the tests here. Here, in California, in Rome, even on Mars” she tilted her hand, holding her own hands in front of her with the cuffs of her light pink blouse draping down to her wrists “We made a deal.”

    The shorter man was in the company of four others. None of them Mallory knew, yet again, she was walking into what could easily turn into a heated conversation, one that made no sense to her as she had no context. And much to her sorrow, she was giving a particularly memorable first impression. Mallory stopped just a couple steps in front of Cordelia, who turned around and bolted slightly in surprise.

    She was holding the shortcake in hand, her summer dress was certainly a little too casual for a student, but she was on her day off just enjoying herself trying to make something fruitful for everyone. Her shoulder-length hair was slightly tousled, and there was still a stain of flour on her cheek.

    “Cordelia I…” she began, and her voice died down.

    Every single person in the foyer turned to look at her. The witches’ bodyguards, Myrtle who appeared to be biting back a snicker, the unclear expressions’ on the other men’s face and of course, Cordelia, whose lips parted a bit in confusion as though she was about to ask her if she had just crawled out an oven. 

     But it was not Cordelia, or the man in glasses, or two of the other men who looked equally entertained and confused the ones who caught her attention.

     It was the fourth man, standing a couple of feet behind the bickering man. He was lean and tall, much younger than the rest (maybe even a little younger than Mallory herself) with wavy golden hair and a pair of icy hooded eyes; his entire building and coutenance were sculpture-like, she had only seen people like him in tales and paintings. Unlike them, he did not seemed to be having fun by looking at her, nor did he seemed confused. He was downright annoyed, if not considerably disturbed by seeing her there.

       “I just wanted to tell you that…” she took a pause to breathe, she had ran there after all “…I baked you something” Mallory stretched her hands out, apple shortcake placed delicately in them. She struggled to give Cordelia a little smile, and Cordelia replied with a sincere one in spite of being caught in an uncomfortable position.

  _Please take it,_ she begged mentally, it would only be worse if she happened to shoo her away and she had to make her way back up shortcake in hand, slightly humiliated by her own child-like behaviour. Amazing, she thought, prancing around like a freaking gazelle interrupting what appeared to be an important conversation for the stupidest of things. The blond man had not taken his eyes off of her, with his hands behind his back and his condescending eyes glued to what she held in her hands, Mallory felt a rush of blood to her ears and cheeks. Finally, Cordelia grabbed the shortcake from her, trying to soothe what had suddenly become a pretty fucking tense moment.  Such bad luck, her luck.

    “Thank you, Mallory” she smiled, “I will be joining you and the rest shortly”

    Mallory gave her a curtsy nod, catching her cue to leave “Okay”

    Her voice had been but a whisper, and she nervously placed a strand of hair behind her ear before disappearing into one of the rooms trying not to feel like she was dying on the inside. She had made a fool of herself in front of the visitors; and she wasn’t too happy by them being there, either, Mallory was known for her ridiculously good nature but they clearly made Cordelia uneasy, that made her grow even more protective of her. All she could guess was maybe the visit was not as willing as initially intended.

    _“Fascinating creature”_  mused Ariel, tilting his head with a little smirk “A perfect example of Robichaux’s prim students, I dare say?”

    “Mallory has some energy of herself, as you could see” Cordelia’s eyes did not share the smile on her lips, she believe not a single word that came from that man’s mouth. She had seen the way he referred to women, if he was to give her a seemingly innocent compliment it had to be accompanied by some concealed insult.

    To call Mallory a fascinating creature, prim and proper example of The Academy, equalled saying he had just seen a wilding running out of the woods ready to pounce at whoever came across her to sniff them like she was some sort of forest animal.

    “That I see, indeed…” he chucked dryly, but quite frankly there was some genuine interest in his voice. He had sensed something, and he hadn’t been the only.

    Michael stayed stiff on his spot, his eyes had involuntarily lingered at the entrance of the room Mallory rushed into.  _Mallory_ , what a pretty name, he thought. Although his expression was rather unclear, the small smirk that spread across his face even made his eyes shine a bit. To think of her parted lips and the startled look in her doe eyes; she was not used to going around keeping appearances. She was raw, she was genuine, and after dealing with the rest of the witches, ever so self-aware, it was a huff of fresh air.

    “Anyway…” Cordelia commenced, eager to change the subject “Dinner will be served in an hour, I was expecting you all could join us an my inner circle” she paused, “unless you would rather to dine privately and rest a little, I expect you to be tired from the trip here”

    Mallory was still listening to it all, toying with the edges of her dress. The little sitting room she was in was suddenly a little too white, a little too bright, and she was growing exhausted by the second. So much cleaning and baking had gotten the best of her, and she was sure there were no more treats to offer the visitors in case that was a possibility. She stood up, dragging her feet rather than bouncing on them as she made her way down a hall and towards the staircase, only to stand by a mirror for a second to examine her reflection. Indeed, she had blushed, and the sight of her definitely lead one to think she was a crazy person who baked compulsively. While distracted with her own thoughts, dwelling into her own silly actions, she overhead Cordelia speaking of dinner, immediately desiring to play sick and eat a sandwich in her room, by herself, instead.

    Turning around, her hand brushed the railing of the staircase and wished she didn’t have to walk by the others again. Only to meet eyes with the blond man, this time his clear disgust seemed to had turn into a little bit of interest. She curiously looked back, watching his as he answered to Cordelia, looking at her.

    “It will be our pleasure to join you for dinner, Miss Goode” he smiled, surprising her with a voice as smooth and rich as silk.

    Mallory shivered before making her way of the stairs, ripping her gaze from him for once and for all. Now that was not just accepting an invitation, that right there  _was a **challenge.**_


	2. Feast On It

    “So…” she dragged out, “…are you gonna hide here for the rest of the night, or? Are you gonna like, eat and bathe and sleep here and never come out again unless they have already left?”

    Mallory was not too fond of the intonation of Coco’s voice, it made her plans sound ridiculous when said out loud. The witch pouted and looked over her shoulder from her boudoir in the room they shared. It was the clear example of Mallory’s ideal living quarters. There was tapestries placed over several spots of the walls, fairy lights hanging hastily on the wall her bed was placed against, posters from several bands and plenty of plush cushions scattered all over her bed. All in deep shades of turquoise, purple, and blue. Creating a sharp contrast between Mallory and the purity from the walls around them.

    “Well, yeah,” she mumbled hesitantly, turning back to the mirror to avoid Coco’s direct gaze, it was easier to look at her through the mirror “You should see those men, Coco, whatever they’re here for is not something Cordelia is too happy about. They were fighting when I got downstairs.” she explained.

    “And what were they fighting for?” Coco’s very was drenched in intrigue, and she supported herself on her elbows, while lying on her stomach in Mallory’s plush and sequined bed.

    “I don’t know” the younger bit her lip, “Something about having made a deal to come here instead of staying in  _Hawthorne_ , or something”

    “So they’re here basically against their will, aren’t they?”

    Mallory swallowed thick, and reimagined the faces of the men in the foyer as monsters. With age spots and grey-greenish hair, skin as dull as wax and eyes as red as blood, an impending threat “…Yes”.

    Quite often, Mallory had this uneasy feeling of not being able to see the full picture and falling into empty wells by trusting so much those around her, unaware of their devious intentions. She was born without a single hint of malice, ever since she was a kid she was able to see the best in people even if said best didn’t even exist; she would help elderly cross the street, befriend otherwise disturbing kids, stay true to her vision of someone rather than whatever rumor of them she might have heard. There was not a single bad bone in Mallory’s body; of course, she had felt feelings that were off, they were bad, they were dark. But she was just a human, after all, she thoroughly stood for second opinions, knowing the first impression, the very first thought she had however sweet or unkind, was what society had conditioned her to believe. Her second thought was her own making, thus, her own thinking. Yes, she stood for second thoughts. **  
**

    The girl in the reflection looked a bit crestfallen herself, a shower and a change of clothes later she finally looked presentable, but on the inside she felt as though, for them, she was covered in leaves and filth. It was painful for her to think so, if she happened to trouble her Supreme any further.  _May God be kind to her._

    “Mal it’s up to you,” Coco stressed, reaching out to put her hand on her shoulder, Mallory turned to look over her shoulder with woeful eyes at the mention of it “You can stay here and I will bring you some food, if you want. It’s truly okay, Mal, let me help you”

    “Thanks, Coco…” she mustered up the littlest of smiles “But I think that would only make it worse, I don’t want to feel like I can’t roam around my own house, nor can I stay here forever when there’s so much to do”

    Coco didn’t protest at this, rather she stretched an arm out for Mallory to take it. Suddenly they were linked by the arms, like ladies from the Victorian era, making their way out their room and walking down the hallway to the sound of their heels and ankle boots clicking against the wooden floors. It was reassuring to have Coco by her side, it had always been, there was something about them that simply meshed well and allowed them to feel a little safer; Coco squeezed her arm, and Mallory remembered. She was sure that hadn’t Mallory been there, her dynamic with the rest of the girls would have been very, very different. Thankfully she had been there, and ever since she had promised to herself very quietly that she would always be there to help Coco as she unknowingly helped her.

    The exquisite scent of homemade food filled her nostrils, a clear hint of Myrtle’s delicious cooking. Most of the girls ate by their own, divided by their little cliques, and Cordelia gathered her closest students for them to eat with her and the teachers. Rest assured, it was a little bit elitist of them, but it was an occurrence that only took place in this kind of situations, the rest of the girls simply saw it as business meetings and were thankful not to have to watch their mouths, literally, so often. Mallory had eaten with them from the beginning. 

     And the diner’s decoration was beautiful, she often found herself open-mouthed just staring at the paintings and the chandelier, that table seemed to go on forever, and the delicious dishes lining up the table its center were nothing seen before by her. It made her mouth water, but tonight she only wanted a bowl of cereal and call it a night. She had spoiled her own appetite.

     _My goodness,_  she thought, and squeezed Coco’s hand a little too tight on accident.

    The blond man from earlier, whose name was still a mystery,  had just turned the corner from the back of the room and was approaching the diner in company of the other men. All she saw was a golden-haired head and a dark suit, she didn’t detail him, but there were no other possible choices, it was him and he was getting closer. “Are you alright?” Coco was subtle enough to whisper in her ear, Mallory was desperate to rush into the dining room but Myrtle happened to be engaging in some leisure conversation with Zoe and she was blocking the way by walking too damn slow.

    Mallory began to squeeze her way in as the footsteps get closer, dress shoes echoing against the floor with every firm step that approached them “That’s the guy who gave me the stinky eye” she whispered back and Coco shot a quick look behind them, she heard her gasp  _“Holy shit”_  at last they were able to come in, and Myrtle was kind enough to find them something to distract themselves with for a few moments.

    “Children, come help me bringing the  _bœuf bourguignon_  from the kitchen” her voice, as usual, was faint and otherworldly “Coco, dear, you help with the  _bûche de Noël_  but don’t you eat it!” she warned softly waving her finger at her, Ariel hovering behind her like a ghost with his golden boy standing right behind him “I know about your sugar-filliac tendencies”

    With this, they both laughed. Coco had to let go of her hand and Mallory nearly whined  _‘Wait, no! Coco, please’_  she thought and begged for her to be able to read her mind. Both women made their way to the kitchen, and Mallory could feel Coco’s bubbling excitement peak as they went through the doors.

    “Bitch! You didn’t tell me he was such-a-snack!” she rushed to say, separating the last the words by dragging them out a little too much, Mallory shot her a glare while reaching out for the porcelain trail of food.

      “You are not precisely helping” she scolded, “I don’t care he’s a snack” Mallory sauntered around the kitchen with long strides, about as long as her short stature permitted, without giving it much thought she grabbed on of the pastries from a tiny silver basin and she talked while she chewed “He freaks me out”

    Coco shrugged her shoulders as to say ‘Oh, well’ and both of them made their way out once again. It was all too sharp and too noisy once they made their way out, it felt as though they had been in that kitchen forever as all of the attendees were finally sitting themselves at the table. Mallory saw Cordelia sitting at the very head, catching a quick glimpse of how she laughed at some comment one of the warlocks made. She looked alright enough, maybe she was just being paranoid earlier. The man from before, the bickering one, was seated to her right, Myrtle was directly seated to her left. At the end of the table was Queenie, toying with a green grape in her mouth, Madison was to Queenie’s right, an empty spot to her left was quickly glanced by Mallory who desperately needed to be as far as possible from the blond man.

    The spots were running out, and she had to hide her urge to curl up in a ball behind Queenie. Everyone was engaging in some enthusiastic conversation, Mallory limited herself to help placing the food. Trails and trails of salads and roasted meat, vegetables and even sweets no one was supposed to touch yet, but that Mallory already had. There were two seats left, and she was willing to punch Coco for the one next to Queenie.

    “M’darling, Mallory, put the last trail here” Myrtle commanded sweetly and she rued the very spot she pointed at with her open palm “Right here, it is, sit across from Michael”

     _Michael._ She wished she could describe how the sound of that name made her feel. It was a common name, at best, nothing fancy or special about it; but there she was, feeling like the name had been given a whole new meaning and would never, ever be the same. Now he had a name, now he was real.

    She placed the trail down gently, right in the middle of the table making a small barrier between her and the man, yet she had to get close if she wanted to do so, and Mallory chose to hold her breath as though that would even help her. Michael had both hands placed by the sides of his plate, fingers coiled together yet not quite making fists out of them; she could detail now he was wearing a black tailor suit with a dark red tie and quite an intricate silver clip pressed on it, a couple rings adorning his slender fingers.

    Mallory had her gaze down, gently fixing the trail in place, yet Michael was looking right at her. Well, right through her. In fact, he was not making the slightest effort to conceal how he was staring her down in curiosity, but with this mask of coolness and poise that made her so uneasy.

    Then he spoke, catching her off guard “Your mouth.”

    Her hazel eyes looked up, meeting the cold blue of his own. His pupils, they were slightly dilated, it was easy to see when the contrast between them and his irises was so damn stark. Mallory cocked her eyebrow in surprise, unsure of what she was even supposed to say, he sat there motionless, she could have sworn he could pass as a mannequin. Maybe a statue. “Excuse me?” she whispered.

    “You’ve got _frosting_ , in your mouth” he stated slowly, matter-of-factly, falsely trying to be secretive about it as he had heard Myrtle warning them about not touching the sweets, himself. The man raised his hand and brushed the corner of his mouth with two of his knuckles as to show her where “Right here.”

    His voice was poison, a jar of tar black honey as lush and as appealing as it was dangerous. Despite her desires, Mallory felt her heart hammering painfully against her ribs, and muttered a quiet ‘Oh’ as she reached for the bit of frosting and brushed it off quickly with her fingers. Myrtle hadn’t listened nor had she seen their little exchange but she could feel he hadn’t done to help her, he had done it to trouble her. Catch her attention, if you will. And he did. Lord, he did.

    Stiff and confused Mallory let herself fall gently onto her chair, Michael’s eyes had not strayed from her at any second, the girl was suddenly growing aware of every little detail of her own appearance. She had worn her favorite blue dress for the occasion, the same she wore the day she met Coco, with golden olive leaves crowning her head, her hair falling in gentle waves, which also framed her face as they turned gilded nearing the tips, she was also wearing a gift from her mother; a little double chained golden necklace with a small hanging moon and stars lacing her slender throat. Right now she felt as though it was choking her, honestly, and her skin for all too hot and tingly.

    The dinner went on rather well, Cordelia was kind enough to introduce them to their new visitors. Their names were Ariel Augustus (the man who was fighting Cordelia earlier), John Henry Moore (the one Mallory liked the best), Behold Chablis (also likable, he made jokes throughout the entire thing making even Madison laugh), and Baldwin Pennypacker (his little eerie smile unsettled Mallory to no end).

    As for the man sitting across from her, his name was Michael Langdon. And he was the reason why they had come to Robichaux’s Academy, to begin with. 

    Turns out Michael was not only a warlock from their own academy, but the strongest of them all. At his short age and after his short stay at Hawthorne, he had proved himself to be above of any of their expectations, to the very point they summoned Cordelia in the need of an urgent talk, claiming Michael was no less than Supreme material.  _Alpha_ , for the warlocks. At first, she said, she was quite reluctant since men’s magic abilities had always been dimmer in comparison to a woman’s, but Michael had persuaded her and the living proof was sitting right there, on their very table. Mallory felt her lips parting once again, flicking her gaze between Madison and Queenie, both of the girls looked supportive of Michael, to say the least, but there was nothing less to expect from a pair than had been saved from literal hell by the man before them.

    Never had she ever seen someone as intimidating.

    “The test will take place here, at The Academy” Cordelia explained, throughout the dinner she had worn out slightly and Mallory could tell. Perhaps she was still tired from their trip, even still, Mallory pursed her lips a bit ever so vigilant and aware of her Supreme’s state of health “As we found it fit for him to be here, considering this is the home of the Supreme. A title he shall receive if he happens to past the Test of Seven Wonders, in two weeks time”

    “Michael will have us, of course” bargained Ariel rather amicably, yet fiercely protective of his student as Mallory would have expect from Cordelia, had it been one of her girls “To support him in this endeavor. Yet we have seen what he is capable of… And we trust these tests will be surpassed successfully, as the rest”

    Zoe was seated to Mallory’s right, further down the table, and she could see her glancing back at Madison who stared at her for a second, Mallory could have sworn it was longingly. How long had she been dead for? Had anybody tried to save her before? Mallory hadn’t heard from the name Madison once since she first arrived, not from Cordelia, not from Myrtle, not from Zoe. Now it felt as though Mallory had walked into  _another_ discussion, unaware of it,  as usual.

    “We trust you girls will make sure Michael feels at home during his stay” the blonde woman smiled, and the five younger girls nodded slowly, always willing to follow the Supreme’s command as they would a mother’s.

    Now it was Behold the one who spoke “As long as you don’t distract him much” he leaned forward and let out a laugh, which was echoed by the rest of the warlocks. Cordelia and Myrtle exchanged a little look, it was then that Mallory understood it had been a suggestive comment. Ariel’s eyes met Mallory’s for half a second, still recovering from his fit of laughter, and she rolled her eyes slightly as she brought her glass of water to her lips and sipped. She was not going to like the increase of testosterone around, for sure.

   It would have been great, it would have been lovely, if Mallory had been allowed to scurry back to her room with Coco linked by her arm right then, but life as she came to know was not as easy. Clearing his throat, Ariel spoke again, and this time it was directly to Mallory. It surprised her that he did so, none of them had spoken to any of the girls. Not even those who happened to be brought back by Michael dearest.

    “So tell us, Mallory,” he encouraged, while the servants began to replace their empty dishes for smaller ones where the desserts began to be served “Did you bake all these desserts too? You looked quite enthusiastic about them earlier”

    She smiled, lightly, although it didn’t reach her eyes. Mallory felt all too timid out of sudden and she hated the unsatisfied curiosity in their eyes as Ariel forked a side of his desserts waiting for her answer. She swallowed thick and shook her head no, interlocking her own fingers on her lap.

    “No, I’m afraid not. I just baked some for the girls earlier today”

    “Were you asked to, or was it something you did by desire?” he wanted to know.

    Cordelia was eyeing her, and Mallory noticed. It was silent, it was gentle, but she was giving her strength and wordlessly encouraging her not to be scared of whatever their visitor might have thought of her answers; she felt herself grow more confident “My own desire, I enjoy baking a lot, and my sisters enjoy my baking a lot”

       “That’s right!” said Queenie from the end of the table and they all laughed. Well, except for Michael.

    Mallory brought her hands up and reached for her own spoon, she hated eating cake with forks, and pinched a piece out before giving Ariel a tranquil smile “Next time, though, I will bake something for all of you”

    “Well, look at that!” Ariel exclaimed looking at Pennypacker from across the table, who raised his eyebrows and sipped from his wine with a chuckle, before turning back to Mallory with a polite nod of his head “I would certainly love that.”

    It was an amicable conversation, exchanging comments between them. Madison had finally formed a part of the conversation, mostly sassing Behold and rolling her eyes at his jokes and raising her voice slightly before bursting into laughter. Mallory couldn’t help but smile, as did Zoe, Madison looked happy and Mallory could hint it was her first time feeling this way in a long time. She would have liked to know what Zoe thought, it made her so curious to not know what was exactly happening between the two, but it made her a bit embarrassed to try to pry further; so she limited herself to eat her cake in peace.

    Shortly after, Cordelia excused herself, stating she was pretty worn out by the trip. Mallory jumped from her seat and made her way out with her, accompanying her to the staircase. It worried her the way Cordelia was lightly tugging at her sleeves, walking slower than usual.

   “Are you alright?” she asked quietly, fully aware Myrtle was still in the dining room with the rest, but feeling Baldwin’s curious eyes glued to their backs as they walked out.

    “I am, Mallory, I am” an unconvincing lie, she thought, “I am just a little tired. It was a long flight, it was a long day. Now all I wish is to rest”

    Mallory tilted her head, eyes narrowed sweetly at her “Is there anything I can do?”

    Cordelia seemed to think about it a couple seconds, then she spoke “The girls had been commenting a lot on your transmutation abilities, Mallory, they’re quite impressive. I was hoping you could give tomorrow’s class for me” Mallory felt like protesting for a second and Cordelia placed her palm up for her to wait “Just for the youngest of the batch, you know they admire you so” the spoonful of sugar helped the medicine go down. Mallory simply nodded and Cordelia cupped her cheek for a second, thanking her, before disappearing up the staircase.

    Mallory stayed by the foot of the staircase, her small hands holding onto the railing, before coming back to the dining room.

    Uncomfortable as it may be, Michael had been looking at her from the moment she got back into his line of vision, one of his elbows was placed over the table, arm bent upwards, toying with his fork between his fingers, he was eating nothing. The cake in front of him as untouched, too, nobody seemed to be noticing that small detail. However he did look back to Ariel and paid attention to his conversation with Myrtle rather than looking at Mallory. She felt as though, and she was probably mistaken, he had been concerned with the girl’s whereabouts; the unsatisfied gleam in his eyes appearing to be hiding questions to be answered only by her. Perhaps he was a bit disappointed that she had momentarily left, and felt in ease once again when she sat back on her chair, finishing the last bits of her chocolate cake.

    Now it was Chablis, the one who excused himself. The rest of his fellow professors followed suit, and Myrtle was moseying around picking plates magically and waving her hand about as she talked to Coco about some trip to Mallorca a few years priors. Everyone was slowly leaving the table, Mallory was still a little too hungry to leave herself and brought the plate with cupcakes closer, eager to pick at the sugary flowers placed on top, Michael’s cake was missing just a tiny piece, and he was chewing slowly.

    It was just the two of them now, and Mallory kept looking down acting like she wasn’t trapped.

    “Aren’t you coming, Michael?” asked Behold with curiosity, maybe expecting him to be as exhausted as they were after the day they had. He looked fresh as a daisy, it was almost annoying.

    “No, go rest” he raised his hand and gave him a little ‘I am okay, don’t you worry’ look.

    Mallory was certainly growing annoyed, she just wanted to stuff her face in peace, she couldn’t with Michael lingering by like his feet were planted to the ground. To leave was no option, either, it would be too obvious, she could feel the look of disapproval of her superiors if she happened to abandon a guest like that.

    “I still happen to have something pretty  _sweet_  in front of me” he continued, Mallory’s gaze shot up before this comment, catching the double meaning behind it at the spot. He was giving her a little side eye when she did so, confirming her suspicions “I will join you once I’ve finished my dessert. Maybe two.”

    Behold raised his eyebrows, staring at both Michael and Mallory, who was still dead silent, wondering if maybe he had missed something over dinner. It was clear he wished not to be bothered, and Mallory was caught up in between. “Easy on the sugar…” he trailed off, looking at Michae and Malloryl up and down, almost as a warning, before disappearing.

    Perhaps it would be best if she happened to speak before Michael himself did, to break the ice and loosen up the tension a bit. So she did, and he happened to be pretty amused by it.

    “So Ariel said you joined the Academy a few months ago…” sadly she did not sound as cheery as she wished, but she was friendly enough. Her head tilted to the side, looking at him carefully “…Have you just discovered your powers?”

    “They have always been there,” he replied, “I simply needed some guidance. The warlocks have been very good to me, I’ve come to learn a lot from them. I’ve come to find my way”

    She was surprised by how genuine, almost proud he sounded. Firm yet devoid of much care, all she could guess was he was as glad of having found his own kind as she was, herself. To be a magical being was a dangerous thing, especially if wandering off alone. She felt the empathy.

   “How about you, Mallory?” it was so odd to hear her name coming from his lips. It didn’t sound her own. Maybe it was because of that damn voice of his, it was so calmed and welcoming it felt unsettling.

    “I’m new-ish, actually” she confessed, “My grandmother sent me here all the way from Salem. My mother didn’t really feel like I had it in me, it sort of bloomed later than thought” she smiled at the memory.

    Nothing had brought her more joy than to discover her powers, for years Mallory had been reading endless texts, putting herself silly tests as to prove her abilities and nothing had sufficed, nothing had worked, she was fearing maybe she had been one of the unlucky ones and the witch would be one of her cousins.  Michael’s expression was a tough one to decode, he looked partly interested, partly bored, partly knowing.

    Partly mesmerized by that smile.

    Was she not aware of the air that surrounded her? Was this witch, this little creature of the woods, not aware of just how exquisite her aura happened to be? She was wreathed in something warm, almost as though she was bathed in rose gold sunlight and honey. Michael was on the ropes, from the moment she had bargained in so rudely into their conversation he had been puzzled by her. Her, stealing his spotlight as Ariel and Cordelia continued to fight, playing tug of war, Michael being the rope. He liked the way she smiled, he liked the way her lips parted at the lack of air, he liked the way her hair fell on her face when she glanced down (something she had done a lot from the moment they first met) and he liked,  _loved_ , how she avoided his eyes whenever he tried to looki into hers.

    She had only given him the pleasure when he made the comment on the frosting, and that image had been framed inside his head. Drawn in burning ink. Her eyes were big and expressive of a deep shade of hazelnut, with absurdly long lashes making them darker by the lids; the way she bolted and waited politely for an explanation, well, it made her look angelical. Michael was waiting for the crown atop her head to turn into a glowy halo at any second. Even still, a good hour or two after the incident, the scent of her perfume lingered in his nose and stayed there. Sweet and drowsy. 

    “Salem, now? As in the trials of Salem, Salem?”

    “Well, yes. Unless there is some Salem, Florida I don’t know about!”

    Michael laughed, and it was a hearty laugh. She found herself laughing along.  For a moment the stern, untouchable facade he had put on cracked a bit. He looked years younger just by laughing, Mallory wondered about his age without bringing herself to actually ask.

   “It simply feels good to know I’m in the presence of a descendant” the smile didn’t fade, his or hers, Michael’s voice was laced in respect, if not amazement “I feel honored, Mallory”

    “Hold your horses, I’m still not very well-versed” she chuckled with her confession, in a way she had the upper hand by being so close to their root of magic, but she could also feel like it placed some unwanted weight over her shoulders. Cordelia herself knew Mallory’s family personally, and that was enough for her to shiver. “But thank you.”

    Little did she know Michael knew much more than she would have imagined, the wickedness in his smile suggested so. He took another mouthful of cake, casually grabbing two cupcakes from the trail and placing one on Mallory’s plate without her asking, she thanked him quietly and folded her arms over the table; something that Myrtle honestly detested as she found it little decorous. She started toying with the sugar flowers and proceeded to eat her cupcake in a rather peculiar way.

    Mallory had a few certain quirks when it came to food. Just things she did out of nowhere. When she ate mashed potatoes she flattened them all into a uniform square and removed smaller squares with her fork, which usually earned her funny looks from Delia; when it was ice cream she always ate first the flavor she liked the least, when it was a shortcake she ate all the stuffing first and ate the cookie base last, and when she was eating oreos she got rid of the cookies first and made a giant ball out of the cream. This time she was getting rid of the little flowers first.

    He stared in interest, first at the cupcake, then at her focused expression, and he bit back a smile.

   “You’re fairly close to your fellow witches” he said, not asked “You referred to them as sisters earlier tonight”

   Mallory looked up, eating up a little lilac flower “They  _are_  my sisters. We’re all family in this coven, is the way we were taught things should be.”

    “And are they as fond of  you, as you are of them?”

   “We’re pretty close, if that’s what you mean” Mallory shrugged, “I’m happy to say they feel comfortable around me, they say I get them”

    “That’s your empathy,” he stated with a sigh as who knew better, now it was Mallory’s turn to look at him with curiosity “It must be easy for them to project themselves onto you, you look like you have nothing bad to say about any of them, like you wouldn’t break a plate…”

    “Yes,” she paused, “that’s because I don’t have anything foul to say about any of them. They can call me, if they need me, and I will be right there, because I know they would do the same”

    Michael leaned forward, narrowing his eyes slightly, intrigued. “What if they didn’t want to return the favour? Would you still be? Would you still help them?”

    “Absolutely” she replied, full of conviction “I don’t do it to get anything in return, it’s just the way I am”

   “Is that so?” he hummed, falling back into his seat with a look she could not quite decipher.

    Was he questioning her? In spite of not knowing her? That was, indeed, a bold move of his. Mallory could feel the tingle, creeping into her skin and seeping through her pores for a hundredth time today. What was it about Michael that planted the seed of doubt inside her? She was convinced she would do anything, anything for her coven and her fellow witches. She knew she loved them dearly no matter how little she had known them for, and she knew this life was the life she wanted, no matter if she was just a sideliner.

    Which she wasn’t.

    The young woman returned her attention to her cupcake, watching him do the same. Michael was having a field day with her, watching her every reaction, studying her every move; Mallory was stirred the wrong way by it, but she was hoping he wouldn’t notice. As for Michael, well, he was telling himself with his great amounts of self-control that it was enough to look at her and take in her sight, the delicacy of her features ever so similar to  _Lady Hamilton’s_ portrait. That it was enough to listen to her voice, to savour the frosting instead of savouring _her._

    “Am I making you uncomfortable?” it was blatant, how innocently and casually he asked.

    “Yes” she replied, sharply, annoyed.

    “Why is that?”

    “I don’t like it how you act like you were questioning every single word I say”

     “Oh, but I am not questioning you” he explained, his honeyed voice portraying exactly how one would act after being something wrong and trying to play innocent “I’m just curious about you”

    Mallory let her hands fall soundly on the table, smacking but not quite “And what is all that curiosity about, if I may ask? Because I want none of it, I honestly want none of it” she was clearly frustrated and her filters had simply disappeared.

    So Michael saw no point in playing pretend, either “Because I don’t like people drawing the attention elsewhere and that is exactly what you’re doing. We all have got more important things at hand” he nearly hissed and she knew she had pressed the right button.

    “Oh, please” she scoffed, minding little if she was eating while she spoke “Is that what you worry so much about? Me stealing your thunder? How old are you, seven?” Mallory laughed bitterly.

    Of course, it was not the fact she appeared what bothered Michael, it was not the fact she drew other people’s attention from the wonder boy back to her, it was the fact she had gotten  _his_ attention. And she was distracting him in a pretty fucking delicate moment. Michael hated himself for it, but the short time he had been in the confinement of those white walls there had been just one thing bouncing from one corner of his mind to the other.  And he wished, desperately, for this little interview to ease his curiosity and ease his hunger.

    Thus far, close but no cigar.

    “I must remind you I’m your future Supreme”

    “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that” she challenged, patience wearing thinner by the second.

    Michael leaned back on his chair, it was obvious their conversation was over. Mallory was done with it, so was he, and it took no time before she pushed back her chair, ever so polite as she smoothed down the fabric of her dress. Michael himself was struggling to keep his composure, their little exchange had caused something else in him, and he hated himself for it. Eve reborn in front of him gave him one last challenging look after turning her heels, The warlock rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth with annoyance. But he stood up, promptly, smoothing down his own jacket.

    Both of them made their way out from opposite sides of the table, not a step out of sync, and as soon as they reached the end of it, he folded his arm, and got closer to her as to ask her to link it with her own, Mallory looked down in disbelief, while Michael rolled his eyes once again. He was asking for her permission to escort her back. There was no need for him to do that, did he even know what year was it? Mallory had no clue, but there was something so very proper about it, she could only guess maybe it was a Hawthorne thing and he was in the obligation of escorting her as much as she was in the obligation of staying in the dining room with him, to begin with.

    “You’re not on the obligation to take it” he clarified, polite in spite of his discontent.

    “Would it annoy you if I did?” she asked flatly.

     Michael looked directly at her, at last “Yes.”

    That was enough for Mallory to reach out and link their arms.

    There was no way for her to know, but Michael’s skin was covered in goosebumps under his jacket and dress shirt, feeling the gentle tug of her own arm on his, he was attempting not to sigh or at least not soundly. Mallory smelled of pears, freesia and musk. It was easy to get drunk off the scent, and she seemed so unaware of it; it angered him, almost. But he did not desire to let go, he would rather suffer a little longer. Mallory was experiencing something quite similar, dazzled by the warmth that came from his skin, warm enough to filter through his clothes, and she took the opportunity to examine him with the corner of her eye, the tingle never ceasing. Was she scared, was she repulsed? Was she drawn in? Perhaps all from above.

    It was silly, something so insignificant, something she had engaged in with other people countless times in the past, seemed like dancing over a minefield. Michael brought the storm with him, she could bet, one only had to look at how easy he vexed her; anyone who knew Mallory knew of how hard it was to make her upset. Yet there he was, upsetting her, mesmerizing her almost, confusing her.

    And when they did make it to the hallway her room was in, she had little desires to have Coco opening the door and seeing them like that, she turned to give him the hint it was time for him to leave. Yet their arms stayed linked, even when it was time for both of them to let go. It was Michael who undid the union, twitching his mouth, Mallory nervously ran her hand through her hair the second he freed her arm, to quickly cross both of them over her chest.

    “Thanks, I’ll take it from here” she said a little too harshly, and soon regretted it.

    “Don’t you want me to escort you back to your bedroom?” he asked quietly, maybe a little bit confused.

   What, in the _fuck_ , was the matter with the two of them? They were bickering just a couple minutes before, why were they all shy out of sudden? Whatever it was, Mallory was not too interested in knowing.

    “Michael, it’s not like a demon will burst through a wall and drag me across the hall, my door’s right there”

    How she wished she understood the look on his face “Alright, then. I will leave you alone, now”

    “Yeah, thanks” she blinked rapidly.

    As she turned to walk towards her door, something stopped her. It was a firm grasp, on the side of her skirt, someone was tugging at it.  _Michael_  was tugging at it. She did nothing but flicking her eyes from his hand to his face, turning her face in a way of saying ‘Um, well? May I help you? Anything else?’.

    Michael did the exact same thing “What?”

    “Can I get my dress back?”

    Ridiculous as it was, Michael looked down in surprise and let go of Mallory the second he noticed what he was doing. Was he not aware of it? Was she supposed to believe that, pray tell, he had spontaneously grabbed the fabric of her dress for the kicks not noticing he was keeping her in place? The worst part was Mallory felt the urge of having grabbed his hand and remove it herself, just so she could feel it.

    “Sorry” he whispered, not so arrogant anymore.

    With this he turned around, it felt as though he couldn’t keep sharing oxygen with her anymore, and Mallory stayed by her door as she heard his footsteps becoming distant thuds, echoing down the halls as he made his way back, back to his own. Aside from that, all she could hear was her thundering heartbeat pounding painfully inside her ears. Her face burning red, her eyes fixed into the distance.

    From the other side of the door, the other four witches could not help themselves any longer, and the door flung open showing their wide eyes, their pursed lips, their shock. Mallory jumped at the sudden rush of cool air and realized just how hot she was feeling. It was all too silent for her liking anymore, well, until Coco took care of it.

    “Now what  **the fuck**  was _ **that?**_ ”


	3. While I Was Sleeping

     _“Mallory… Mallory are you okay?”_  


    Zoe’s eyes were fixed on her sister, yet her voice was a strange mixture of sharp and distant. For a moment, Mallory felt as though she had been called on from under the water, and the rush of ice-cold waves kept her from surfacing. The concern in her voice brought her to wonder just what kind of expression she would currently have; woeful eyes, flustered cheeks, even her hands were still contorted in half-opened fists as though she had been keeping herself from reaching out, grabbing something, holding onto someone.

    “How long have you been there?” she queried,  the sound of her voice was just as foreign; it was husky and deep, as usual, but this once it felt devoid of something. The hollowed echo of what had been, never to be again.

_It was so very frustrating!_  She scolded herself. How come she suddenly felt so de-synthesized, so out of touch with everything around her? “Ever since we left you there.” Zoe declared, behind her was Madison, her fingers lightly grasping her shoulder. Queenie was pressed to the doorframe and Coco had half her body out the door; looking towards the point where the staircase broke asunder, hinting that she was functioning as a sentinel as though she was waiting for Michael to emerge from the half-light.

    Mallory herself glanced over her shoulder and found nothing, the lit chandelier illuminated the foyer, which now looked hauntingly lonely. Swallowing thick she met the witches’ expecting faces, the way Madison’s lips were pursed was a clear demonstration of their shared distress. The bewildered simmered down, knowing that showing herself distraught worked for nothing, it was, most likely, nothing but irrelevant nonsense. Not like she believed that.

    “I…” Mallory chuckled dryly and shook her head, her palm meeting the doorframe right next to Queenie’s head, it was almost like she was looking for support “…I honestly don’t know what just happened.”

    It was Queenie who brought her in with a gentle grasp on her arms, nodding off reassuringly.

    “Come on, girl, let’s get you back inside.”

    Five youthful figures hurried back into the room for two, five pair of eyes looked behind them in suspicion. There was something mystical about their ways, something weaved within their nature as though they had one natural response to threats. No blood had to be shed for them to defend themselves, Coco warily looked Mallory over, scanning her searching for wounds to explain her shaken appearance. Perhaps Mallory couldn’t see it, but the rest could, she was paler than snow, yet she burned to the touch.  


    “Okay, first off…” it was Madison the first to talk, who had stayed behind to shut and lock the door, gripping her own hips with every bouncy little step she took “…what happened?”

     _Oh, Madison, you have such a lovely voice._  Mallory failed to explain it, but she really liked Madison’s voice out of the entire bunch, each of them had a particular ring to them, but there was something so Disney Princess-y about Madison’s that it was almost soothing. Hands down, it was not the best time to dwell in other people’s voices, but she was willing to spare herself a couple minutes and hold onto them to stay afloat, if they would suffice. “I-I couldn’t leave him there on his own, thought it’d be rude of me…” that was a lackluster explanation–she showed the palms of her hands before they dropped onto her lap as a sign of surrender–but it was the only one she had.

    Zoe, Madison, Coco and Queenie had all fixed and placed themselves around Mallory, who folded her legs under her as she sat on the bed, hands flat over her thighs. Her head kept shaking, a bodily proof of her disbelief, it all felt so unreal to her, her mouth felt as though it was full of cotton; she spoke, alright, but it was unbecoming, she couldn’t help but letting her thoughts spur out searching for rhyme and reason, herself. Mallory took their curious faces and their impending silence as a sign to continue.

    “I ran into him and his people earlier today in the foyer, they had all just arrived. Cordelia and Ariel, they were having a disagreement over their stay, like they didn’t really want to be here, but were forced to, for some reason” she glided her tongue over her dry lips, dreading the hint of sweet that lingered there.

    The exact same sweet taste that must have covered  _his_. Abruptly so, Mallory couldn’t grab the thought before it shot through her mind like a bullet, destroying it all in its path. It was not a mental picture, but a feeling, the curious urge to place her hand on his with the initial intention of pushing it far and away, only to place it gently over her cheek– _‘Touch.’_  she would have whispered, ever so sweet and quietly it would resemble a prayer. And he would have done so, placidly, he would have looked into her eyes setting her fields aflame.

    It was so torturous to imagine, leaning forward with their fingers interlocked. To fall victim to intrigue and the grim warmth of an imposing stranger, to cave into the sweet on his lips she knew she would taste.

    “They all looked at me like I had just rolled out of a dumpster” she frowned upon the memory.

    “That’s kind of what you looked like, though” Madison confessed with a grimace.

    Queenie nudged her ribs.

    “From that very moment, he made me uneasy. I could feel him looking right at me when he said he would join us for dinner, I honestly wanted to stay inside, eat whatever…” by her side, Coco was nodding energetically “…but I guess I didn’t want to make myself look like a coward.”

    And so her small story went on. Mallory told them all the details she considered important, cynically avoiding any of the feelings he had brought to a wake. God forbid they knew she had dared him so, or that she was somewhat liking the closeness; that she hadn’t even admitted to herself, again, Mallory was sinning of being cynical.

    Perhaps that was why Michael had easily gotten under her skin, the more she thought about it, the more she believed he could see right through it. In moments like these, when an asteroid of a person crashed into her atmosphere cluttering it all, she found herself hungry and thirsty for a big god. Big enough to ease the ache, both their faiths as strong as steel and sharp enough to cut through it.

    “When Michael came to free me from the Hotel Cortez the strangest thing happened,” Queenie leaned in from the edge of the bed, everyone mirrored her movements “the ghost that held me hostage, March, he looked scared of him.”

    By then the five girls had relaxed, Mallory was lying flat on her stomach, Coco formed a ‘t’ with her by sitting across the bed when her back leisurely pressed to Mallory’s side. Queenie rested on Coco’s bed, nearing the edge of it, and the pair of Madison and Zoe shared beds with Queenie, their backs pressed to the wall behind them. If well the tension had loosened up considerably, their state of disturbance had turned into non-stop whispering and exchanges of little puzzled looks. Like kids sharing horror stories at a slumber party. All that was missing was the flashlight and the stolen Ouija Board.

    “Cordelia told me about March,” said Zoe, who was toying with one of Coco’s cushions in her hands, before her eyes was a mask of skepticism and inquisitiveness, “His hotel is one of the few hell pits on the surface, second in the state of California and the most dangerous, too. It seems strange to me someone with so much power, capable of capturing so many souls–like yours, Queenie–would be afraid of some warlock. A teenager.”

    “You should have seen his face, Zo,” she quivered, as to prove a point “I knew there was some sort of, I don’t know, evil in March. I knew he was pretty damn powerful, but when he saw Michael I almost thought he would hide behind me, or hand right to him if I refused to follow.”

    “But what can a ghost be afraid of, Queenie? He’s dead.”

    Madison’s question brought Mallory to hold her breath. Many questions and no answers, she thought, judging by the furrowing faces of them all they were a bunch of blind mice trying to escape the cat.

    “Whatever follows, of being trapped, like the rest of them” Mallory suggested, it sounded more like a question.

    “When he came to get me he looked pretty confident in himself”

    Now it was Madison’s turn to share her story, Mallory had been secretly waiting to hear it as her facial expressions whenever Michael was brought up were a poem of their own. She had the feeling maybe she was still feeling a little out of place in the realm of the living, like she had been ripped from her dimension of residence so violently it hadn’t felt right “Michael knew the way in, as he knew the way out. I remember feeling, I don’t know, a little bit flabbergasted about everything he did. He looked so young, but he acted like he knew better; like none of the shit from my personal hell could harm him.”

    “Did he tell you why he brought you back?”

    Madison’s eyes dimmed, “No…” her voice was lower now, and that was unlike her “…Well, I mean, he told Queenie and I that he wanted to prove a point but… Judging by Cordelia’s reaction I can tell she didn’t plan to see me there, she was happy and all but…”

    “…yeah”, with this, she went quiet.

    “Cordelia knew you were dead, Madison, she knew you had to be somewhere, out there” Zoe assured her, holding worrily onto her hand, Madison seemed to thank the physical contact but there was no conviction in her movements as there was no happiness in her smile.

    “She didn’t look for me” she declared, heavy hearted “She didn’t  _ask him_  to go get me. And you know it.”

    Mallory wished, desperately, to find a way to make Madison feel better. It was not a matter of empathy, although maybe it was, but the pain and the disappointment in Madison’s voice only showed that underneath the mask of a the selfish, self-absorbed back-stabber, was nothing but someone tired of being left behind and taken for granted. How else was she supposed to feel if her own coven, her own family, had thrown her rescue into the back burner for  _years?_ Maybe it was a miscommunication, maybe Delia did toss and turn every night thinking of her Madison dearest trapped in an infinite nightly shift. Only heaven knew everything that coursed through her mind, Mallory was aware she was somewhat impressionable, even still she refused to believe someone as Cordelia was capable of being so indolent and cruel.

    She was their mother, after all.

    Zoe soothed her, or so she tried, but suddenly Madison’s blues were strong enough for their original conversation to be forgotten. Queenie was the first to leave, excusing herself by how tired she was, Madison really didn’t look like she felt like moving, either, but she managed to with Zoe’s help.

     _Oh, shit._ There really was not a way to know if Cordelia had told Michael or not, Madison herself claimed she asked him and he brushed her question off, yet didn’t hesitate to say Queenie’s rescue was something beyond their Supreme’s abilities. No, there was no way to convince Madison otherwise, maybe there was no use.

    “Poor Madison” Coco genuinely looked saddened by it, as them all.

   “Yeah.” Mallory agreed, shifting through her things looking for the little ceramic case she kept her necklaces in, letting the one she was wearing during dinner fall into it with a soft clink. “Miss Cordelia wouldn’t leave her to her own devices, though, I’m sure of it”

    “Your faith is good, Mal, I admire it” with a knowing, careful look Coco pulled her hair out of her pajama top, grabbing her hairbrush from one of her drawers, “But honestly you don’t know Cordelia, nor do I. I don’t even think Zoe or Madison know her, for that matter.”

    And Mallory admired Coco’s honesty. The good thing about her lack of filter was she would never be caught feeding fables to anyone, Coco certainly had a more realistic view of the world in comparison to Mallory’s. While she knew of self-interest, white lies, nepotism, Mallory could have been pulled right out of a fairytale. If you gave her trust she would treasure dearly, if you gained her own, you could have convinced her that the sky was lilac rather than blue.

    “Here, let me help you” Mallory smiled, grabbing the hairbrush from her.

    The witch made her way to her, finally free from that dress that had somehow grown so heavy on her, ghosts of grasps weighting the fabric, and Mallory herself, down. Her hands were soft and gentle, making sure she didn’t accidentally pull from one of the strands too hard causing Coco any pain.

    “Wow, you’re _good_  at this, Mal” she praised enthusiastically.

    Mallory chuckled in response “Thanks”

    “Where are all the good hairdressers, anyway? I haven’t been able to find a decent one”

    She decided to tease her a bit “I think you left them all in California!”

    Coco laughed, that shallow cartoon-like laugh of hers, “I’ll have you know I do have one, back there. And he is a prodigy, too, I will introduce you two, someday.”

    Both of them stayed in silence for a while, nothing but wind and crickets filling the air. By then all the lights in Robichaux were put out, except from the one on her bedside table which allowed them to see well enough before going to sleep. Her mind was quickly running, being left alone with her intrusive thoughts, and the aftertaste of that uncomfortable dinner had begun to settle on her tongue once again.

    “You, hey…”

    Coco called softly, Mallory looked into the mirror in response.

    “…are you okay?”

    “Yeah, yeah,” she gave her a little dismissive wave with her hand, “He simply shook me a bit, that’s all. Maybe that’s a warlock thing, I don’t know, they all seem to be pretty conceited”

    She snorted, losing all seriousness, as Mallory forecasted. Her voice was guttural and a little too loud “He’s hot, Mallory”  _I know,_  she thought “Like hot-hot.”

     _Yes, yes. I know._  Mallory had to fight herself not to make her annoyance visible. Maybe she could be naughty, maybe she could pull on her hair a bit and blame it on a knot. She chose against it, eventually.

    Mallory craved nothing more than to climb into her bed and drift into sleep, the need was increasing with each passing second, and the events of an eventful day were eager to roam inside her mind in the form of a motion picture. She could run and hide, conceal and don’t feel, but still her thoughts betrayed her. Coco had snuggled under her own covers, by now sound asleep, while Mallory shifted from one side to the other, unable to bring herself to close her eyes and rest. How useless it was to avoid it, suppressing a thought was about as uncomfortable as holding her breath. Mallory played with the edge of her long plaid shirt over skin tight shorts, never able to wear a full set of pajamas like a normal person, and ran her fingers through her own hair compulsively, sprawled over one too many cushions, feeling them all too dangly or too plushy for her taste. Her bed didn’t feel her own, her skin was tingling like she was covered in static.

  It was delusional, but she felt like she belonged somewhere else. With someone else. Like something inside of her was urging her to get up and roam the halls until she found what she was needing. Her mind, at last, granted her with some peace to ease a faint headache, it took no time until it rolled the credits and the lights went out; engulfed by Morpheus himself, dreaming of her personal Hades…

    “Is that so?” he hummed, falling back into his seat with a look she could not quite decipher.

    Mallory nodded innocently. Where was she, again? Her eyes wandered around, recognizing the dining room she had been in just a couple hours earlier at the spot, the edges were blurred, but the lights were bright enough to sharpen the lines of every figure in her direct line of vision, her peripheral view was done for, but she could make out every single detail placed right in the center.

    And right now, Michael was right in the center.

    His bright blue eyes were narrowed at her, they were unrelentless, calculative, gelid. All her life she had related lightness to good and purity, but try as she may she couldn’t bring a hint of genuine light from the gaze fixed on her. It was violent, it brought her to hush, nodding off hoping it would be enough. Someway somehow, Michael had managed to fill her chest with a crippling anxious feeling that ran all the way to her fingertips, making it impossible for her to move without feeling like her limbs were waking up painfully from being numb, the sudden flow of blood making the sensation unpleasant.

    “They must be lucky to have a friend, such as you…” the praise in his voice was shallow, fake sweet.

    “What about you, Michael?” she questioned back, not knowing when she gathered the courage.

    He was not surprised, but there was something morbidly fascinating about her responses.

    “About me?”

    “Yes,” she repeated, “about you.”

    The laugh that escaped his lips once fixed in a smirk was teasing, mocking, belittling. Mallory took in the view, mostly out of healthy curiosity, partly because she was chasing a feeling; a feeling she could only compare to the expectation she felt as a child playing with a Jack in the Box, right now, she was turning the crank. Michael gave her no answer yet, and her head cocked to the side, fingers toying with the edge of her plate where a half-eaten cupcake stood. Mallory licked her lips without a second thought.

    “Can’t I be curious?” she breathed.

    Something in Michael’s face changed, his knitted brows came to relax, and the fingers he was brushing against his chin flopped onto the table, it was impossible for neither of them to pretend this was okay, that it was a normal conversation. Out of the blue it had turned into a competition, and if well Mallory had been puzzled, taken aback, caught off guard, she wasn’t losing. She allowed herself to examine him further, hovering her eyes over the soft blond hair, the unsatisfaction deep in his blue eyes, the breath that hitched in his throat causing him to rise and drop his chest with every huff of air he took in. Air he shared with her, air that intoxicated them both. What happened? What was this?

    His voice was morphing into something deep and laid-on thick, “Tell me what you desire to know”

    Mallory leaned in slightly “I want to know if my future Supreme is as given to his kin as his kin is to him”

    What happened? What was this?

    Michael stood from his seat, causing her to push herself back into her own, looking up at him. The warlock circled the table, as though he was about to leave the room, but he turned his heels instead and walked towards her, behind her, Mallory hadn’t been able to make direct eye contact with him yet; she couldn’t. Perhaps they were hunter and prey, and the wrong move would end in one of their deaths, the clicking of his dress red-bottom shoes was all that filled the room and she kept herself from swallowing in the fear of both being able to hear it. She didn’t wish for him to know he made her nervous, she wished for him to feel like she was not one to be toying with. Of course, she was selfless, and obviously she was obedient.

    But she was no candle in the wind.

    “I’m given to those who deserve it, Mallory” his voice rang behind her, because that’s where he was.

    The way her name rolled off his tongue sent shivers down her spine, “Not everyone deserves it.”

   The witch looked up, over her shoulder, and saw him resting himself hastily against the wall. His arms were now loosely crossed, hanging from his hips down with his fingers fidgeting at something she couldn’t identify. “Everyone deserves to be given a chance…” Mallory protested softly, standing for principles.

    “I disagree” he mused, his voice made her believe that his mind was somewhere far away.

    “Why, Michael?”

    Unlike the rest of times, she didn’t intend to vex, or to tease. She was genuinely curious about his ways, what caused to think they way he did, Mallory had known him for less than a day, had only spoken to him a few moments before. She couldn’t explain her behaviour for the life of her, as he couldn’t explain his own.

    Oh, he couldn’t.

    And when he knelt by her seat, eyes fixed inexorably into hers, Michael knew there were no winners in this competition, as there were no survivors. Her eyes were pools of liquid honey, molten amber perhaps, warm and hopeful like an autumn morning, a new year’s day. His Eve before him toyed with a spoon between her fingers, but if her convictions equaled hers strengths (and they surely did) he was certain she could make it snap under her grasp. It scared him to hold her, but wanted to, so badly.

    “People will take what they want and toss you aside once they’ve gotten it. They can be ruthless, selfish, devoid of any care and ever so willing to cause you harm even if you never hurt them; even if you devoted your  _entire life_  to demonstrate your love, your loyalty, your support” his voice, it was stern, but the meaning under his words had softened, and Mallory felt her own knitted brow relaxing.

    “What do you suggest? To make your entire clan sit for questioning? Handpick those who are worthy?”

    “Perhaps that’s what I’ll do…” he schemed, mischievously, and took her hands in his.

    The touch was heavenly, as soft and warm as he daydreamed of. Mallory wasn’t pulling away, although she did widen her eyes at the contact, Michael took the lack of rejection from her end as a signal for him to continue, feeling unable to keep on speaking his mind unless he touched her. Unless he felt she was there, giving him her full attention; as it came to be, and much to his terror, there was nothing he longed the more. Not at the moment, at least. The man began to trace gentle circles on the back of her hands with his thumbs, feeling how she exhaled shortly, eyes glued to her lap. He kept himself from reaching out and tilting that pretty little chin, instead he lowered himself more onto the floor, hoping it would make it easier for her to look right at him.  _Look at me,_ he pleaded,  _just look at me._

    And she did, she did as he asked her softly “Why? Don’t you consider yourself worthy?”

    “I’m a loyal person” she replied sharply, a sentence incomplete.

    “But you wouldn’t be loyal to me” he continued, more to himself than to her.

    Mallory was speechless, it was hard for her to think this man was, potentially, the next backbone of not just her coven but another, of both warlocks and witches, a boss, a compass, a father. For crying out loud, he was so young! And so unsettling, he had done nothing but rubbing her off since their first meet. The despise in his face as he witnessed her exchange with Cordelia, how was she supposed to trust in such man? What made her think he wasn’t as bad as Ariel, if not worse? He had been poisoned with the warlocks’ doctrine, and maybe it was too late for anyone to save him. Why, yes, something inside him drove him to see her as his very Eve, but by no means would she bite on a bad apple. No matter how sweet and ripe it looked.

    “I don’t know” she trembled, her voice was paper thin.

    “What if I made you?” Michael stopped rubbing the back of her hands, and interlocked their fingers gently, even if she came to notice just how firm his grip on her was. “What if I convinced you, Mallory?”

     _What happened? What was this?_  Again, she had no answers.

    “I don’t trust the warlocks” she confessed, and it was a regretful confession, for she didn’t mean to reveal so much. But the second he touched her she knew she could tell him no lies, “The coven is a family and Cordelia is our mother, I wouldn’t put my trust in anyone who troubles her, and you trouble her. I’ve seen it, I’ve seen how distressed and tired she is. I cannot trust you, Michael”

    Her voice was soft, but a force of nature, still waters before the tidal waves. His lips were parted, so were hers, and he found himself at the brink of insanity. For a little nothing witch, a little silly stranger. Michael felt his hands pulsing, his heart stuttering inside his chest. He could hint the drumming of her own, pulsing through her gentle skin, as well. The man wetted his lower lip with his tongue, and he spoke quietly, not a soul but hers would listen, someone could have been sitting next to her and they wouldn’t have done so.

    “Then we will have to make amends,” he announced, the pupils of his clear eyes were dilated, his words began to feel genuine, and it was frightening, Mallory wanted to break apart but she couldn’t, she knew that she wouldn’t.  Michael nodded as to reassure it, as to promise it “I can do it, and I will do it.”

    Mallory tried to pry her gaze away, it was useless, he was everywhere. He had invaded her line of vision, it all felt blurry when she looked elsewhere, foggy, distant. It stung her how tranquil it was to just stare at him, even if he filled her chest with cutty strings, and pulled from them with every little touch he gave her.

    “You want me to believe you would do that for me?” she questioned, in disbelief.

    “Oh, Mallory…”

    He lifted up slightly, but only so he could be an inch before her face as he leaned in. Before she could get ahold of it, hands still united, they were sharing breathes, their lungs pulling in and pushing out the same tiny bit of oxygen they drenched in their breathy words and unclear intentions. With every second that passed, breathing became harder, for both of them. Mallory couldn’t bring herself to move when his lips grazed hers as he spoke. Not quite a kiss, just the lightest of grazes between his skin and hers, so easy to lean in yet so hard to contain themselves any longer.

    “…I would do anything for you”

    Mallory tugged harder at his hands, she hadn’t even noticed she was grasping back, to begin with. When she looked into his eyes, narrowed as they were so close their foreheads touched, the look in his was crazed and devoted, it was honest. Hers was too. There were no butterflies fluttering, no, what she felt were thunders and lighting, earthquakes, tearing her apart from the inside, toying with her sorry mind.

    “Anything?”

    She felt another feather-like graze, Michael taking in the little air she just exhaled, “Anything.”

  His voice was so firm, his gaze was so strong. She had to believe him, but he had to do his part, first. She wouldn’t swim in those dark waters with no lifeline to save her, she wouldn’t sell her soul to whoever swore to protect it. Who knew if he would trap it inside a little bottle like a wooden boat, instead.

    And so the witch dug her nails on his hands, earning a gasp from him as she breathed against his lips.

    “Then prove it.”

_And just like that… she woke **up.**_


	4. Sunset Bloody

    Gilded beams of light danced entrancing, and cunningly deceiving. Above her head the soft crunching noise of leaves and branches brushing each other was comforting; it was the closest thing to a home she had. Through shut lids she could see it, the dance the trees engaged to, frolicking the space immediately atop of her, Mallory was having a few moments of utter peace and she thanked them greatly, being satisfied by mother nature’s whispering and lullabying. It was solace to her, even if fleeting.

     _Was it a dream?_  It was quite real, in fact, she was lying on the grass, eyes closed on the prettiest meadow in the whole city of New Orleans. From afar she could listen to her sisters, the youngest ones, giggling and exploring the space at its width, acting on the command of Myrtle’s ever-knowing voice. Searching for tiny leaves and spices that were surely found all around them. They just had to look.

     _You’re getting close, but not quit_ e she smiled, keeping that little thought to herself.

    Three young witches, from ages thirteen to fifteen, were looking for parsley and if well Mallory could have found it with her eyes closed, merely following her nose and grazing a couple bushes, they had already pranced in circles thrice not knowing they had it right under their noses. Their names were Miranda and Heather, they were always locked by the hips, reminding her all too well to her and Coco; even their dynamic was a reflexion to their own; one was a born caretaker, the other was helpless, both needed each other in a way that was pretty natural. Pretty humane. If well fought every once in a while, and more likely than not pulled pranks on each other, no ghoul’s wrath could quite compare to what they would have done to anybody who dared hurting their sister.

    “What is this?” Miranda asked, she was the youngest, the helpless.

    “Not what we’re looking for, try that one. I think it’s that one”

    She had that tone in her voice that let you know she was rolling her eyes in spite of not seeing her.

     “I’m pretty sure that’s oregano, Heather”

    “That’s  _thyme_ , in fact, and right now I’m pretty thankful I don’t have to rely on you, guys, for any potions just yet” Mallory then spoke, opening her eyes at once and coming up to rest on her elbows, “Otherwise, I’d wake up with an extra arm.”

    “And an extra tongue, too, I’m afraid” Myrtle sauntered towards all of them, with a wicker basket in her hand full of prairie flowers and the rest of spices she had gotten, herself. Mallory flashed her a pursed apologetic smile “It seems to me, Mallory, that you have been awfully quiet as of late.”

    That she had, she had been so quiet lately she was starting to think she was slowly becoming mute. Tasks were given, days went by, and her sometimes overly-excited comments began to reduce themselves to little happy notes on the corner of the paper, her voice thrown into the back burner until she turned herself into an echo. She had done it willingly, and she dreaded the reason behind it.

    How to? How to? How to take a look at herself in the mirror and admit she had dreamed of that scene every so often? It always went the same: the dining, the bickering, the taunting. Hands on her own and eyes fiercely locked laced with maddening promises. _I can do it, and I will do it._  She had eaten every plate on that table countless times since that night, desserts included, forcing another mouthful down swallowing thick, thinking she would faint. The sweetness of cake and cream were now directly related to Michael and everything about him; his eyes, his hands, his lips. Mallory felt like falling onto her knees, no remedy at sight, every night wary of drifting away and replaying the scene one more time, waking up confused and agitated wishing she could wash away the taste. No prayer would suffice.

    “Awfully is not a fitting word” she teased, sweetly, her unaffected smile not fading.

    “Which word would you use, then, dear?”

    “Terribly.” Mallory declared, glancing down with knowing eyes.

    With an ease proper only of herself, Myrtle sat down at a spot right next to Mallory, the girl’s eyes widened before keeping herself from asking her if she wasn’t worried she would get dirt on her dress. She was in for a preaching, she could tell, far too timid to even look right next to her.

    Myrtle was definitely something else “You know you can talk to me, if so you need, I know I am not precisely well-versed on some of this generation’s doleances but—” she waved her hands to and fro as to signal some non-existent collection of millenial ailings right in front of her; from one labelled  _‘anxiety’_ to one labelled _‘what to do when you keep dreaming of yourself with a warlock in borderline sensual scenarios’_ , Mallory loathed feeling she was so see-through.

     “—I am always one to turn to, if what you need is to talk.”

    “That’s actually really nice of you.”

    Mallory was so tired on the inside, you could tell it from her crestfallen smile. But she had no desires to do so, she didn’t wish to have a little audience with Cordelia and the rest in regards to her recurring dreams with Michael Langdon in which she pledges her loyalty to him in exchange of something still unclear, she didn’t wish to expose something as personal, as rare, of a physical longing thus far unresolved and unexperienced. What she would feel, and it pained her to know, would be like she was stripping herself naked in front of her peers for them to examine her every line and her every blemish. That she would not allow, even if it made her feel like she was concealing something important. Even if it made her feel selfish.

    “But there really isn’t much to talk about.” she continued, begging for a change of subject.

    “You have taken every possible opportunity to be outside The Academy” the older witch asserted, “and for what I can see you haven’t been sleeping much, either.”

    That much was true, Mallory had come to find there were many errands to run outside of Robichaux and downtown New Orleans was exciting enough to preoccupy her in a helpful way. Nobody seemed to mind she was the messenger and the message altogether, nobody said a word when she insisted upon getting the groceries herself; or, in this instance, tag along little mindless trips, just to get out of the house.

    Something brewing inside those white, wooden walls made her uneasy, and made any rest unattainable. Michael was somewhere in there, it was rare for him to let himself be seen, but still, and for the past few days Mallory had started to grow paranoid when getting up in the middle of the night to get some water or circling the corners at night, it was like she saw him in the shadows. He wouldn’t speak, almost not breathe, she felt this gaze placed upon her, restless, and something deep inside her made her think maybe this Michael boy almighty as he was, could see beyond the barriers and overhear things that were better to be kept under wraps.  The oddest part of it all was that many people at The Academy didn’t even know he was there.

    “Sometimes… I do need some fresh air” she lied, hoping to be convincing enough. Could she tell? Mallory hoped not, but by the looks of it and the mirrored smile she gave her, it was all good.

    Thankfully, it took a turn for the better, far away from her biggest worries.

    “I know Cordelia has placed a great amount of trust over those little shoulders of yours with the Transmutation lessons you are giving the little girls,” her head motioned lightly at Miranda, Heather, and Gabbie, the second youngest “But it is only because she finds your gifts to be extraordinary.”

    Mallory nodded off with apprehensiveness “I love my Transmutation lessons…” it almost sounded like a quiet, whispered little protest. Thinking of it as so unfitting, wondering if she really had stray so far off to the left she no longer looked interested in helping her little sisters. “…I guess I’m just a little bit tired.”

    Now Myrtle was laughing, Mallory found it so endearing the shape her faux-blushed cheeks took whenever she did so, it made her think of her grandmother; but just because of this, it brought her heart to twitch a bit. She missed her so.

    “Considering all you do, you little working bee, the least you could be is tired!”

    With this she gave Mallory’s cheek a little squeeze, it made her miss her more.

    Mallory had to give her some credit for it, lately she had been outdoing herself in more ways than one but it was resulting in a state of exhaustion that didn’t even allow her to sleep. She woke up early in the morning, craving to see the sunrise from her bedroom window, peeking through the branches and leaves, doves and magpies, and started her day by taking care of all others, one way or another. First she watered the flowers, then she opened the windows, then she greeted the help while they swept and mopped and then she called in her girls for breakfast. It stirred a common excitement inside of her to say it, even think it, her girls. Mallory had always loved the idea of being someone a group of people could look up to, but was often taken aback by the amount of responsibility. Now the youngest students were, partly, under her undying eye.

    Far from making her gloat, she found it humbling. Being able to look after others and teach them something of value only made Mallory more self-aware of her mortality and her ignorance, it made her feel even more grateful to have found the coven and, thereafter, made her grateful of her sisters.

    “I want to serve my purpose.” staring off into the distance, her words hung heavy from her mouth.

    “Oh, trust me, dear. You are doing just that!”

    Rest assured, Myrtle Snow often spoke in riddles and lost herself in her narratives of trips she loved and loves that caused her to trip, but for some reason her empathy was more her forte when she was near Mallory; like she could sense her helpless obliviousness. Mallory herself was not too fond of it, of being lost inside her head all day everyday fishing for cards that were actually folded up her sleeve. So much could happen, so much could happen right in front of her own nose and Mallory would not notice. Myrtle would say, before this, that there was something much greater and more important brewing inside her head, and that it required the witch’s undivided attention. Yes, Mallory certainly liked to think so.

    “Do you really think so?” her voice but a soft whisper “That Miss Cordelia really trusts me?”

    The smile on Myrtle’s face did nothing but widen, and a rush of pride and happiness swept Mallory over.

    “Trusts you and holds you dear,” she assured, placing her hands firmly over her shoulders and shaking affectionately “Cordelia would keep you safe in a locket, pressed to her heart, if so she could.”

    Mallory couldn’t bring herself to speak, and when she did, she was afraid her voice was much too filled with emotion. Perhaps it didn’t break, but it shook the same way the trees above her did, so sensitive to the warm, autumn breeze.

    “I hope to be worthy, then.” 

    On the way home her coiled tongue kept her from uttering the slightest of sounds, but at least Mallory was not feeling as anxious as usual, a feeling that possessed her each time she stopped herself to rest, to breathe, each time her mind was free to swim into the mesmerizingly eery notes of that sick lullaby. Pressed to her chest was a gift from Myrtle, a bouquet of wild _asters_ she had picked herself for her, in purple and pink. Mallory had never seen them in person, however common they could be, but felt endeared by their natural gracefulness, a happy accident from mother nature herself that had resulted in a flower so simple yet so intricate; with all its thin lengthy petals pointing outwards like they were the rays of the sun. Myrtle had asked her if she liked them, she replied she had loved them. And she loved them, indeed.

    Holding something so alive yet so dead, so fleeting, so timeless, it was an odd source of relief that washed over her and somewhat made this never-resting fog dissipate even if only for a good portion of the day. With all her new friends having parted themselves from her a bit in the last few days, for reasons unknown, Mallory was seriously questioning whether or not she was holding onto the asters as tightly in the need of some physical contact she couldn’t and wouldn’t have. Oh, how she wished to see the rest again, how she missed them. Through her veins blood coursed, but along with it there was a cold flush of regret, Mallory was lamenting herself quietly as her boots thudded against the wooden floors of the porch, it had been so unfair of her to drift away, hide herself behind piles of work and chores, and zone out.

    All while the witch got out of the car and into the house, Ariel Augustus had his eyes narrowed at her from behind one of the upper floors windows, sipping on his coffee with an expression on his face quite difficult to decode. It could be interested, it could be untrusting. She hadn’t seen him, so she wouldn’t even know.

    “Look who’s decided to come back, John Henry…” he breathed into his cup, blowing steam out.

    The warlock looked unbothered, peeking his eyes from behind a book while sitting on a velvet settee “Mary Poppins, by chance?” John taunted, uninterested, not one to be interrupted while reading.

    Ariel shot him a glare. Whatever he thought of saying, he chose against.   


    A couple of hours had passed, and the remaining students at The Academy, many were tending to their other subjects or simply done for the day, had already made their way to Mallory’s humble little class. A tiny lecture, no less, at one of the house’s numerous sitting rooms.

    The amount of evidence was baffling, for those who had known her even if shortly, it was easy to say the lesson was hers. Mallory liked the girls to sit wherever they would like; cushions, couches, bring chairs from the dining room or even sit on the floor if so they wished. This particular afternoon, around four o'clock, there were cushions thrown on the floor were the little girls sat. The rest of the space was clean and clear from any objects that might make the day’s activities any more difficult; if she wanted them fulfil her little challenge they would need peace of mind and Mallory thought open spaces were directly connected to them. The spectre of Transmutation was in itself pretty wide, but she was trusting she was keen enough to carry on a lecture that would both teach them something and amuse them, at the same time.

    But who ever got bored of magic?

    “What I’m about to ask you to do requires a significant amount of concentration” she announced in her best teacher voice, Mallory had thought of it as solemn and authoritarian but she actually sounded like a kindergarten teacher “Not enough to give you a headache, just enough to make something significant.”  


    Three of the attendees were the girls from the prairie, the rest were all of the newest, youngest students Cordelia had welcomed. It caused her to bite her lip, to think of her Supreme, hoping she was setting a good example, it was impossible not to compare herself to Cordelia’s most reliable former student, Zoe. Zoe had plenty experience in nearly every field possible, it was Zoe who taught her the principles of Transmutation. To be teaching this lesson, instead of her, was surrealistic, almost. Out of all of them, it seemed like it was her who had grown the quickest into her professor skin, she was a mistress of the craft.

    Mallory, however, felt like a lucky beginner.

    “And what are we gonna do, Miss Mallory?” asked a little ginger-haired cutie. Allison, she was.

    “We’re gonna take a penny, Allison” she explained, reaching for a shiny little coin that was flat on a table “And we’re going to make it turn into something much, much prettier.”

    Hand on heart, Mallory was expecting her ways were not too gentle, none of the girls had shown themselves under a bad light or acted as a bully of any sort, but she was aware ugly realities and uglier secrets could hide under the prettiest surfaces. When it came to deal with gullible young ladies, she was walking on thin ice. A hollow promise could be all it took before one of them thought herself to be above her coven, and decided to use her powers for all sorts of wickedness. Best case scenario the misbehaviour could be corrected and rechannelled; worst case scenario a new Fiona Goode was born. 

    Mallory had dressed down for the occasion, conveniently enough as she rushed to flop onto the floor with her orchid-pink summer dress pooling all around her, patterned with fine ivy and pale blue poppies. Her hair was in a half-updo with overgrown bangs side-parted, framing her mellow features; two thin golden chains hanging from her left wrist. If her aura could be translated into an attire, this would be it.

    Soft and primaveral.

    “Alright, gather ‘round” she indicated, gesturing the space around her.

     The ten witchlings obliged, finding themselves their own spots, forming a half-moon shape as seen from above. Miranda offered herself to pass around the pennies, until each and every one of them held one in their opened palms. Mallory cleared her throat, shifting her eyes from being fixed on the silvery coin to the faces of the children in front of them, it made her smile in excitement.

    A faint tingle was starting to rise from underneath her skin, she paid no mind to it.

    “Perhaps to turn an object into another with the use of magic seems pretty simple, in theory…” she mused, careful of not using words too big or too far-fetched that would confuse them for the sake of a purple prose “…But in practice, it is a little bit more complex. One has to take in consideration the weight, the shape and the origin of whatever object one wishes to make out of the other, that includes knowing precisely what the other objects is and what it is made of, where does it come from.”

    The girls eyes her carefully, curious and eager to know what followed.

    “In the past we have changed the size of cookies, the color of roses, but we have never turned one thing into another. That’s what we’re doing today.” as to cue their exaltation, the girls began to exchange giddy looks and grins “We will take this shiny little penny, and we will turn it into a  _pearl_.”

    Gabbie looked nervous, and Mallory’s immediate response was to smile warmly at her.

    “I don’t think I will be able to do that, Miss Mallory”

    She reached for the little girl’s hand and offered it a light, comforting squeeze “Of course you will! I will help you, it doesn’t matter how many tries it takes you. What truly matters as that you get the hang of i, no matter how long it takes.”

    Only once Gabbie smiled was when Mallory withdrew her hand and placed it upon her own lap “Now, now. I want you to hold it,” they all did, following Mallory’s every action like tiny reflections “and I want you to think very hard of a pearl. The size, the color, think of the ocean where it came from, and so the ocean will bring it back to you.”

    “You can close your eyes and squeeze them tight if it helps you.” she smiled, and waited.

    Gabbie squeezed her eyes shut at her command, as did the rest of girls. It could be a slow process, yes, but Mallory had chosen a light little object specifically for their ease and comfort. Slowly the results began to show, the weight on their palms became a few pounds heavier and the girls began to open their eyes to encounter a little jewel placed upon their opened hands, of different marbly pastel tones. Gabbie had made the biggest out of all of them.

    Mallory couldn’t help but cheer in pride and excitement “Yes, look at all of you! You have all done a great job, guys!”

    Happiness became contagious in the room, the effervescence from the witches in training was dimming down the one building inside of Mallory without her knowledge, being so far into the lesson and the cheerfulness of the girls she didn’t even notice the hair on the back of her neck had raised out of sudden as though she was freezing cold. Buzzling and whispering muffled out any other sound.

    The sound of footsteps, for example.

    Now it was her turn to show what she could do. The second Mallory closed her own eyes, softly as though she was trying to sleep, the girls went quiet. After a couple of seconds she heard gasps and opened her eyes. Inside her palm there was a pearl, perfectly rounded and shinier than the rest. There were no hints of blue or red hues in it, just pure unblemished white with silver shimmers; Mallory smiled down at it, the tiny hints of glitter on it made it look like it was made right out of sand and seafoam. A gorgeous pearl, it was.

    “May I see it?” asked one of the youngest.

   “Of course you can.” she replied.

    Still on the floor with the fabric of her dress draping down, Mallory leaned forward with one of her hands pressed to the cool floors, all of her students leaned in at the same time making a couple of them bump heads on accident, wide-eyed looking at the pearl Mallory had just made out of the penny. In fact, she could have made a fistful of pearls out of it and let them bounce against the floor like marbles, but she thought to make a single one was more fitting. Over time she had come to love everything she transformed and even kept the objects safe inside a box, but this one right here felt even more gracious, for some reason.

    Mallory’s back was to the opened doors of the sitting room, feeling hints of chilly breeze filtering through the halls and into the room. She had been oblivious of whatever happened outside, letting each of the girls take a good look at her pearl before she gently hovered the hand she had on the floor for support back, with the intention of sitting like she had done so, at the beginning of the lesson.

    A voice floating behind her stopped her halfway through, and she froze as soon as she recognized it.

    “How lovely.”

    Michael Langdon was standing right behind her, looking down at Mallory and what she held in her hand in utter appreciation. At first, she had no clue of what to do or what to say, all too startled to bring herself to say something cohesive. His hands were behind his back, his head tilted in her direction, a neutral expression on his face suggesting that, as usual, he knew more of the state of events than anyone else.

    He waited for a reply for a second, and spoke once he knew he wouldn’t get any.

    “May  _I_  see it?” he questioned politely, sounding almost like a kid and he tried to be careful. As though he knew she wouldn’t be as comfortable with his presence as she was with the girls’.

    As a response Mallory nodded almost imperceptibly, and raised the corners of her mouth just as much; rather a gesture of politeness instead of a genuine grin. There was much too questioning going on for her to be openly friendly to the warlock before her.

    The witch raised her hand a few inches, and Michael rushed to crouch in front of her, their hands meeting halfway. Mallory opened her palm for him to see it clearly, and Michael placed his own hand under hers, as to keep it in place, and raise it closer to him. They both shot a quickly glance to the other at the contact, before fixing their eyes back on the pearl, he was soft and warm to the touch, so was she. The care with which Michael held her hand seemed to be one made for petals, for someone as imposing and occasionally arrogant she was expecting instead a unpleasant grip, like the one of Ariel when he shook hands.

     Michael had a golden wave falling over one of his eyes and Mallory tried to see right through, as to decipher what was hidden in his expression, he looked at the pearl with extreme care. Taking in every detail. It was an almost childlike curiosity the one he displayed, and she hadn’t expected that from him now or in a million years time. The girl swallowed hard out of nervousness, wondering where that knot in her throat came from.

    He looked at it for a couple of seconds, then placed it on his own hand as Mallory’s fingers recoiled slowly like a flower falling asleep. Michael shifted the pearl and rolled it in his palm before grabbing her by the hand once again and placed his palm flat and firm against her own, pearl in the middle. It was him, even, who closed Mallory’s fingers gently over the little object, his grasp lingering on her just a second. Try as she may to conceal it, her cheeks were set ablaze.

    “Impressive” he whispered, even if his voice was drenched in conceit. It was so hard not to feel like he was mocking her under the table with every praise. After all, Mallory knew his compliments were a double-edged sword, as the ones of every single warlock she had come to meet.

    At last she found her voice “Thank you.” she replied.

    “Miss Mallory?” it was Heather, now, who pranced into the room with her hair all tousled around her face, Michael slowly came up from crouching by her and Mallory sat again with her back straight, looking up at her. “Professor Myrtle is calling us over, can we go now?”

    Mallory nodded energetically, finally feeling free from the sudden numb “Oh, yes, of course! Tell her I’m sorry if I happened to keep you for a little too long, I’m afraid I got carried away” she chuckled timidly, “but I think she’s already aware of that.”

    “Alright, I will!” and with all the naturality in the world, Heather reached down to Mallory and gave her a tight hug “See you on Monday, then!”

    “See you on Monday, munchkin” and with this, the girls rushed out, long gone.

     Michael was still standing, a step behind her. The gestures, the displays of affection and the language used when she directed to the younger witches, those who avoiding him as though they found him scary, it all felt so selfless and so motherly of her. Days had gone by, and he had searched for a trace of Mallory just for the sake of easing his intrigue and looking further into her routine when she was not surrounded by her lousy entourage. Every time he looked for her, of the scarce time he had free, anyway, he failed to find her.  


    It was always the same, she was running errands or attending her own lessons, she woke up so early and went to bed so late one of those days he was sure she would run into herself in the hallway. Mallory was avoiding him, of that he was certain, because I house could only be so busy and so big for two people not to even coincide with each other even if coming up the staircase. Yes, it was ridiculous, it failed to please him. Now there she was, hugging children and playing teacher, seemingly devoid of any care, even if he knew she had to have a couple.

    Her features were just as welcoming, as gentle, but her eyes were not widened in general excitement nor was she strolling up and down the room lively, rather she was still sitting on the floor as though she was wondering whether or not it was worth it to stand. Whether or not she had the energy to do so.

    “Up.” he commanded, softly enough, and felt himself melting into his gaze as she shifted on her spot and looked up at him.

    Michael stretched out his other hand, free for her to take it if so she wished, and tried to smile even if the action rather looked like his mouth had me twitched from the corners; so subtle yet so noticeable. The girl took his left hand in hers and he prompted her upwards, seeing the dress pooling all around her drop back into its original shape. “There we go,” he trailed off quietly, “you look tired, Mallory-”

    “I’m fine” she responded, not too fond of his observation.

    “I thought you would be, after being on the move so much these past few days.”

     _Dammit, he noticed._

   Mallory gave a gallic shrug and smoothed her skirt down, that was becoming a nervous tic of her, avoiding his gaze altogether “It’s part of my role in the coven, to help the others as much as possible” she excused herself in clear nonchalance. Clear, now, not genuine.

    “Doing chores delegated to the help and teaching when you’re still a student, yourself?” he raised an eyebrow. How come this man could never take a simple answer and be done with it? She was running out of pretexts and she found his body language quite vexing; staring up as though he was trying to think of an explanation, his voicetone so alike the one of ‘how odd’, full of disbelief.

     “This place surely runs different than Hawthorne—”

    “—What do you  _want_ , Michael?” she cut him off, trying to keep her annoyance at bay.

    Fights were at least an inconveniences, and at most entertaining. But both knew pretty well that they could go on forever if both parties kept their cool, and before her eyes his had both hands behind his back, no hints of being upset in his expression. Michael, as per usual, was calmed and collected. That was enough to convince Mallory not to fight, not this once, not for the second time in a row.

    “I wanted to apologize” he spoke firmly, gentlemanly “For having unfortunate you the other night over dinner. I bore no ill intentions, that much I can assure you, I was simply curious by the way this coven functions. I’m a guest, after all, you could expect me to have a little need for a little knowledge on the situation I am in.”

    “Oh,” she muttered quietly, and her own voice fell atop of her like a ton of bricks.

    So that was it. Michael was not an evil entity sent her way to distract her and cause her insomnia. Perhaps he was just a young adult, such as her, learning to control his own power, such as her, far from everyone and everything he ever knew, such as her. Mallory was righteous, yes, but she was also so naive.   
    “It was nothing” she assured him, instead of apologizing herself, she was unsure if she had to do it just yet “I guess I, too, got carried away with everything. I’m just really, really protective of my sisters.”

    “Is that so?”  _You’re fucking kidding me, now, aren’t you?_  she thought. That damned intonation again.

    She nodded, not falling to his games if what he wanted was gaming “Yes. Yes, it is so.”

    Michael stood there looking at a corner of a room, hesitance and inconclusiveness was pending from a sorry thread, swaying to the beat of their breathing, if what he wanted was for her to continue with an apology he would have to wait. Wait until she knew exactly what was going on, to say the least, he spoke of being curious and having no ill intentions but Mallory didn’t quite fall for it right the way. With his apologetic eyes that every so often and ever so easily turned to ice, a sincere apology was hard to come by. Something about him felt so persuasive, yes, but also so manipulative. Having fallen for it and lowered herself to a culprit Mallory wouldn’t have forgiven herself. For her once, shame on you. Fool her twice…

    There were things left for her to do, cushions to fix and books to return to their shelves, Mallory turned her back to him and started picking the plush seatings up, collecting them under her arm until she had them all. Just because he was there it didn’t mean she would have to stop in her tracks and just stare at him silently until he decided to leave the room. By the looks of it that was the last of his intentions.

    So she had no choice but to try and make it less awkward.

    After taking a few steps further into the room she looked over her shoulder, Michael was still at his very spot looking into the distance, all movement he made was the one from his breathing and that one he couldn’t conceal or avoid, so she was starting to think maybe he didn’t want to be there, either, but had to.

    “Michael?” she called out, bringing him out of his trance at the spot. Clear-blue eyes fixed on her that very second, and she wished she hadn’t felt that wave of warmth rushing through her like a shot of adrenaline. His eyebrow was raised and his frame leaned forward in expectation, attention placed on her and her alone.

    Mallory raised her lips gently in a bashful smile before she spoke, raising one of the cushions in her hand as to make allusion to what she truly needed. In a way she couldn’t believe she was about to do what she was about to do.

    “Help me?”

    It took no second asking for him to comply to her, almost eager. His long legs had him next to her in a couple strides, he looked almost confused, like he was waiting for her to tell him what to do next; Mallory handed him few of the cushions and he took the hint, fixing them neatly on the couch, she was about to do the same herself with the remaining cushions but he noticed right the way that her small hands could not contain them much longer, not to mention one of her hands was still clutched around the pearl.

    Michael opened Mallory’s fist gently and grabbed the pearl from her, it almost dizzied her the amount of contact necessary for that silly little action to happen, for something as common and yet again as irrelevant to the situation she was taken aback by how personal it felt; silence helped little to it. Both of them averted the other’s eyes, instead they had been looking at their damned hands, silently admiring how different their sizes were in comparison. Mallory’s fingers were slim and short, twice slimmer than Michael’s, which wrapped around her own to free her from the bothersome little grasp of the rounded object in no time. Her breathing was pitched, her skin was burning, and all they had done was touching hands. Hands and nothing else.

    “Oh, it’s okay” she rushed to say even if it was absurdly late to stop him, “I was just going to put it in my pocket.”

     “Where?” Michael asked not glancing up, it was terrible from where she was as he towered over her, she could see the every line and detail of his countenance from such closure, her chest felt as though it was about to burst. “It’s in my dress, but it’s okay Michael, I got this”

    And he didn’t listen, finding the well-concealed pocket from between the folds of her dress and being bold enough to slide his hand in it, letting the little pearl drop. Perhaps it was a minimal little thing, but that minimal little thing weighted as much as a dozen rocks as it hit the bottom of her pocket. He slid out, as fast as he had slid in, but she felt the outline of his hand all too well, as though he had grazed it against her cheek.

    Mallory needed out, and she needed out immediately. This was getting out of hand again, this was wrong and most importantly uncalled for. What the fuck was wrong with her? Why was her breathing pitching for being close to him, why was she so anxious and clumsy whenever he was nearby? The blonde squirmed herself away even if there were no hands on her, at least not anymore, and began to drag the sofas to their rightful place with an urgency that made it seem like she had to set a scene for whoever came in next not to suspect the furniture had been pressed to the walls for greater space before they chimed in. Her nervousness amused him, but from the corner of her eye she could sense suspicion in his own. Michael watched her dragging and fixing, placing and stacking here and there, following her just once she held several books she had taken out the large bookshelf from the back of the room for reference, hands full, willing to climb the wheeled ladder using no hands if that meant finishing quicker so she could hurry back in her room, avoid him for the next two weeks. The thought of the time that had passed, and what was supposed to come, made her mind drift away from the subject just for a moment.

_     Why on Earth hadn’t Michael done the test of the Seven Wonders yet? _

    “Can I ask you something, Mallory?” he suddenly spoke, and yes, he took the books from her so she could climb up the ladder and find them a place in the shelf.

    No, she thought, you cannot “Sure, go ahead” she muttered, placing the book he held out for her in place and turning back in to grab the next while not looking at his face.

   _“What the fuck are you testing here?”_  Mallory looked up, shocked by his hissy breathy voice, “I would like to know, because whatever game is the one you and your Supreme are playing will cost you, cost you much.”

    “Michael, I…” she stuttered, but she was interrupted.

    “She’s given the task to you, hasn’t she?” his voice was poisonous, unlike anything she had seen in him before, even his eyes gleamed with a crazed urge that morphed into anger, frustration “To sabotage me”

    As though that wasn’t enough, Michael made it impossible for Mallory to climb down the ladder and escape, if so she wished, by placing his foot right on the board below her own feet, and fiercely grasping on the side of the ladder, cornering her against the bookshelf, almost.

    “Sabotage you? Michael, do you listen to yourself when you speak?” she roared, her proud and poise equally wounded, “What is that I’m doing that you consider sabotage? And why would I even want to sabotage you, to begin with?” her voice grew higher in pitch and volume when she spewed that last sentence.

    Michael looked perplexed, suddenly becoming aware of the imprisonment he placed her into the same way he had reacted days before when he realized he was grasping at her skirt. It was all too fast too him, the anger unheard of that electrified him as much as much as her touch, he hadn’t meant to react this way, something had detonated whatever bomb was inside of him, and sadly she was right beneath the blast. He stood back in hesitation, taking deep heavy breaths, trying to simmer down. But it hurt him, it hurt him to look up at her in shame and finding a shaken, fearful expression on her face; no anger was strong enough to overcome the panic that was starting to brew within her. Little did he know of her dreams, he only knew of his own.

    She spoke again, holding onto herself feel all too scared to climb down the ladder just yet.

    “Michael, I don’t know what you’re talking about” she shook her head, “But I can assure you I have absolutely nothing to do with it.”

    How unfair it was, for a moment he looked into her widened eyes and he knew exactly what was going through her mind. She was thinking, tired and unready as she was, how to defend herself in case he wanted to attack her. Michael felt his heart drop with a thud at the bottom of his stomach, to hurt her was the least wanted. All those feelings, all those fears, he was consuming himself in impatience and urgency.

    Only when she took a good look into his eyes she could hint just how tired he looked, as well.

    “Are you alright?” she whispered cautiously, afraid he wouldn’t listen, but he did.

     “Can’t sleep.” he gave in, dropping his arms to his side, causing Mallory to narrow her eyes slowly, as slowly as she climbed off the ladder and made her way to him. For every two steps she took forward he took one backwards. “I’m getting these… these outbursts at random times and I need to preoccupy myself otherwise I feel like I’m going crazy and… and I…”

    “Can’t bring yourself to rest?” she finished, crossing her arms tightly around herself. Michael could only nod, he was burning, on the inside, there was something climbing up his throat and threatening with piercing right through it but he couldn’t tell what. “I know.”

    The solemnity in her voice was unalloyed, but to him it tasted sour “Of course you know, because you’re the one who’s causing it.”

    Mallory shook her head no, and he could see her chest rise and drop with heavy breaths.

    “Because I can feel it too…  _Everything…_ ”  

    There were so, so many things they could have done in that moment. To wonder why those dreams were tormenting them, why it was almost painful to the touch, anything. Michael could only stare at her, and feel like it was in awe. His black tailor suit was suffocating, making him feel like he was burning in pure hellfire right then under the red dusk sun that filtered through the windows. It took him an eternity to take her in, to see her parted lips struggling with air, her fidgety fingers playing with something; she had taken out the pearl from her pocket and now she was toying with it nervously, absently. Another flash came crashing by.

    Another piece of his dream.

    “Tell me what you desire to know”

    Back in the dining room, on her usual spot, she was looking up at him with those bright hazel eyes. She had pushed herself forward on the table slightly as to catch his attention, which he did, Michael knew that he was dreaming, because the outcome of their actual conversation was quite different, here he was testing the waters and playing with his mind in a wild disarray, he was not controlling this sequence, all he knew was she was there, and it had to be her doing that he had gotten a second chance. A second chance to aim for something he could not desire just yet, as i was so soon for him to know anything about her besides the fact she was powerful, and that she was beautiful.

     “I want to know if my future Supreme is as given to his kin as his kin is to him”

    Michael stood up and started circling the table as who cricles their shivering prey, Mallory looked at him carefully yet she was unafraid, possessed by nothing but curiosity. Meanwhile, in reality, Michael made his way closer to her, taking all the time in the world to do so. He had claimed he was given to those who deserve, he had assured her they were few, he had reached to the girl in the pink dress (a dream meshing with his current reality, something he couldn’t bring himself to wrap his hand around) and the shiny pearl he had seen her make was between his fingers, in the dream. That could only mean something.

    It meant none of them really knew what was going on, but in their dreams they had found nothing but a way to act on their earthly longings, those so inconvenient. For him to swear his loyalty, to make a amends, he was suicide. He knew, he knew what the storyline was and how, no way in Hell, he could promise so much without casting the worst of chaos upon them, writing their curse out himself, written in blood.

    Mallory herself was internally quaking, once again she found devotion in the stranger’s eyes, something hiding from below the surface begging her for some recognition. It was right there, and she knew it, but she couldn’t see it. She couldn’t explain it.

    Once again,  _what was this? What happened?_

    Turns out all this time she had been sharing dreams with Michael Langdon.

    And closeness was easy to come now, feeling herself burn at the touch of his forehead on hers, their fingers toying with the tiny pearl without actually neither wanting to keep it, it fell from their hands at some point, rolling across the floor and under a couch before they could acknowledge it. Mallory was struggling to breathe, so was he, but that didn’t stop her from caving into her desires and placing both hands on the sides of his face, feeling the softness at last. Sighs were leaving unannounced, he closed his eyes at the touch for a moment, there was no more need to hide if what they felt they felt at once; instead he breathed in sharply luring her closer in, strong hands placing themselves tightly around her waist and bringing her chest close to him. His nose brushed hers, she bit her own lip earning a darkened gaze from him.

    They both knew it, this could end up badly, but who really cared anymore?

    His lips found hers, and melted right on top of them with every movement. Mallory gasped in his mouth, prompting herself on the tip of her toes only to bring him closer, turning their tension into an intoxicated dance of lips and mingled breaths; one of his hands traveled from her waist to the back of her head, and this fingers tangled softly through her hair as he brought her closer, he desperately needed her closer.

    Thirteen fucking nights the same dream, thirteen fucking nights of grazing lips and unresolved tension, of crazed promises and arguments. They were once so painful and now so fruitful, not he had her in his eyes, kissing him as passionately as he kissed her. And she was sweet like sugar, drowsy as musk, never had he ever experienced a feeling so right and so perfect. Her nails dug on the skin of his neck and he brought her closer, stumbling back onto the couch where he flopped languidly, rushing to place her cozily upon his lap; Michael brought himself to fight the hunger, focusing only on tasting her lips a little longer.

    Mallory felt just the same, marveling herself by the softness of his lips, the grip of his hands, the taste of his tongue. If she could have kept it going forever she wouldn’t have broken apart. But she was human, after all, and she had to do it eventually only to be greeted by the wavering storm inside his eyes; knowing that spite having had her, he still craved her.

    “So anything, huh?” she teased.

    And he flashed her a perfect white set of teeth with a devious smile, he brushed his nose against her making her breathe in the hot air of his exhalation. He was feeling things of all sorts, all he knew for sure was she was no longer a strange. However long it would take, he would find out who she really was. Who they really were.

    He breathed against her lips, undyingly gazing into her as to carve his words in her brain “Anything.”

    Michael brought her back down to kiss her, again, knowing the kind of chaos he was experimenting could only be their wicked version of peace. It took not words to know Mallory didn’t think otherwise.

_ If only they had seen Ariel staring at the scene from afar, if only they could see his hands clenched in **fists.** _


	5. You're Gonna Bring Yourself Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as it has come to be, this was the last chapter I posted on Tumblr. Before the finale, when we all bore hopes for the pairing. I will not lie, I've had a very tough time figuring out where this will be going but I am only posting it because I have an outline of what the plot will come to be in following chapters and maybe even an end. I wrote this to one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands.
> 
> All These Things That I Have Done. By The Killers.
> 
> I beg you, you bear with me, it has many time jumps and changes of scenes. Mostly because, unlike novels, I wrote this as a tier, as the last three minutes of what would be a TV episode. Call it my first attempt at making something cinematic. What I wanted to get was the "song is playing during the scene" type of feeling, and for some reason the lyrics of this song fit every shot in my head. So here it is.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy and expect a new chapter in the next couple of days! Lots of love, Carrie.
> 
> PS. I've been reading all your comments on This Wicked World, and I'm honestly so touched and so moved. Thank you.

__**When there’s nowhere else to run  
    Is there room for one more son  
    One more son  
    If you can hold on  
    If you can hold on, hold on…**

     Something came with that new found excitement, with that sudden rush that took over all her senses and sadly even got to blind her, it was the unequivocal feeling of something lurking from within the dark; at times she felt like walls could talk, and they whispered to each other in the strangest of moments, such as one inside a sitting room half past five o’clock. Her lips were swollen as was her chest, and her eyes were glazed over almost as though she had more than enough alcohol coursing through her bloodstream.

    As in Michael’s, well, Mallory struggled to even find the words. There were a faint hint of red smudged against his lips, blatant evidence of her doings on him, blonde hair disheveled ever so slightly, and a stuttery, irregular breathing that showed itself, obviously so, with the erratic movements of his Adam’s apple. Something foreign was taking over her, fighting the primal urge of leaning forward, grazing her teeth on it, feel the course of blood pumping under his skin and his breathing become even more irregular. On the outside, however, she simply let herself be seen as blissful. So clear that a weight was lifted from her shoulders.

    “You’re looking pretty self-sufficient, love” he smirked, those gentle fingers running through the strands of light honey hair that fell on her face, tucking them gently behind her ear. she chuckled at the touch and he chuckled at the sound.

    “What is it?” still, that devastating smile on his face. She could hardly breathe.

    Mallory shook her head and tried to pry the grin away “I don’t know, did you expect me  to have a reason?”

    Michael showed himself to be deep in thought, but it could easily be him teasing her.

    “Wouldn’t my kiss be enough to fluster you?” she shook her head no, taunting him with a little pursed-lipped smile “Surprise you at least?” the witch repeated the gesture and he laughed “No?”

    “No, not at all.”

    Michael tightened his grip around her. A strange sensation rushed through her, not unpleasant but surely funny, it was foreign and enticing, it was like waking up in what was supposed to be the middle of the night after flying to a different time zone; for some reason you would feel out of place and renuent of accepting this reality, this dimming sunlight as the state of things. Perhaps it was stupid for her to say she felt jet-lagged, but it was the only possible analogy she found for it, however fast or slow time was ticking by she simply couldn’t grasp it; sitting on his lap with his long fingers in her hair was a different reality, she was deep into the Twilight Zone. Nothing felt real past the threshold.

    “It’s gotten dark” she noted, after what had felt like centuries.

    He had brought her down for his arms to wrap around, tightly, refusing to let go. What a funny little thing to give into the touch of some stranger, one that never quite felt as such; it was much too comfortable and familiar for her to stiffen under his hands, it had been far too pleasant to lose herself in his scent of musk, roses and smoke. She felt him nodding against the top of her head, his voice losing itself in her hair as he spoke.

    “Mhm.”

     _Okay, apparently this will be harder than it looked like,_ she thought. “Aren’t you gonna let me go?”

    “No.” he huffed, the tightening grip of his arms around her constrainedly enough to prove a point.

    Inside, Mallory was growing nervous, she had lost track of time and was unsure of just how she had been there with him, but without having to give it much thought she knew it was a bad, bad idea; he was a warlock, after all, and he was coming for the crown. A crown that belonged to Cordelia, someone she saw almost as a mother now. The sharp sting of guilt ran through her, softened only by the touch of silk-like hands that held onto her, fiercely so. She wanted to tell him it was too soon, she wanted to tell him it was too much. But the thing is, Mallory hated lying, and that was an outrageous lie.

    “I must go…” she insisted, clicking her tongue inside her mouth as she managed to break apart “Come on, I mean it.”

    “Ugh, alright.” his voice was not too happy about it, but he caved in.

    It had taken a bit of struggle but Michael lastly complied, she had seen it all too clearly how he was unhappy about it whilst they smoothed down their clothes. Heaven would have fallen upon her if they happened to be unfortunate enough to be cuddled up the moment one of the students, or worse, one of their teachers, happened to walk into the sitting room. Mallory could picture their faces coiled in disapproval.

    To think of Ariel or Cordelia’s reaction to what just happened, it caused her to shiver, it mattered so little whether or not it was the beginning or something or just a few futile kisses exchanged out of sheer curiosity, in order to feed and ease a hunger that could be easily be mitigated. Mallory wished for, and it made her feel so guilty as well, for it not to be just a couple kisses. They walked out of the room side by side, not really looking at each other but looking at the ground, and it was impossible for her not to wish for just another kiss, one more, for the way, then she would be happy. Then she would ask for no more.

_**     I want to stand up, I want to let go  
    You know, you know - no you don’t, you don’t ** _

    Alas, she would get nothing. As soon as they reached the bottom of the staircase right by the foyer where they first saw each other, Michael bid adieu with a gentlemanly nod of his head, hands holding themselves behind his back. Mallory returned the gesture, fightin the stupid urge of bowing down a bit as it seemed the most fitting. By then the entire lieu was drenched in red sunshine. A bloody bath, it seemed. Devilish.

    “Michael” she breathed.

    “Mallory” he echoed.

    But to her it was unaffected, to her it was pure and warm, like she was swimming not in hellfire but rose petals, the sight of him became nothin but smaller within seconds and before she could grasp it he was gone, and before she could process it fully she was startled by the lights of the foyer chandelier flicking on, she didn’t see anybody by the switch, they had done so on their own accord.

_**     I want to shine on in the hearts of men  
    I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand ** _

    One floor above, her supreme was aching. Blonde hair sprawled across her pillow case, cold sweat beading her forehead like a pearl as fever refused to cease; it was the third, this week, thus far the worst. For weeks now she had been struggling with pains she couldn’t bear and a weakness that would grant her with no rest, no access to her own thoughts as time continued to tick by all of them; she was growing sloppy, meandering and wondering as the Test of the Seven Wonders waited by her door like newspapers from the day before.

    Myrtle knelt by her bed placing a moist handkerchief upon her forehead, hoping it would ease the pain and make the fever hinder even if just a bit. “What can I do for you, dear?” she asked in a quiet plea, her clear eyes full of concern “What can I give you to make this easier?”

    “Sleep, I need to sleep” she sobbed, never had she ever felt so pathetic. Cordelia coiled and stretched, spasms made her fragile frame shiver, she was beginning to thinnen.

__**     Another head aches, another heart breaks  
    I am so much older than I can take  
    And my affection, well it comes and goes  
    I need direction to perfection, no, no, no, no **

    “Drink this,” the redhead drew a smokey mug to the woman’s lips, who sipped lightly “It should help you.” it hurt to see a supreme, one so young and so promising, fading with no signs of getting better. It hurt even more to not know what to do to make her pain any easier to cope with. Cordelia fell back into her pillow, exhausted, and Myrtle wished she could squeeze her hand without hurting her.

    On her side, all alone, Madison Montgomery was shifting through her things in her room, looking over all of her things that Zoe had kept safe even when her whereabouts were unknown, as were Zoe’s at the moment. Madison went through all of the skirts and cropped tops, even the golden party dress from that fateful night and tossed them all in the sink of their shared room before she cast a fire out of nowhere, letting them all burn, wishing to get rid of them all and all they represented soon enough. She was fully aware Zoe had kept them out of melancholy, to have something left of Madison before accepting her clear passing; now, she had returned, even still her mind and soul were not in peace; tears were staining her face again.

    Wondering, just wondering, why Cordelia hadn’t made any efforts to save her. Wondering if maybe it would have been better if Michael had left her all alone to rot in that lousy excuse of hell for the rest of eternity. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, causing a bit of ash from her cigarette to burn her skin. Madison hissed, and tossed the cigarette into the sink where her clothes were still scorching in little flames. Dancing to the beat of their destruction.

_**     Help me out ** _

    Hadn’t she asked for forgiveness, for mercy?

_**     Yeah, you know you got to help me out ** _

    Hadn’t she suffered enough in all ways imaginable, with her sorry soul bestowed upon the Devil himself whereas she burned in eternal flames, her sisters safe and sound above the ground? God, it all felt so unfair, as she flopped on the bed with bitter tears staining her cheeks and a little burn mark on the back of her hand. It hurt her so to think Cordelia had ignored her so blatantly when she suffered for Queenie.

_**     Yeah, oh don’t you put me on the backburner ** _

    Maybe she would never be good enough for her coven, and it was her fate to wander about like an outcast.

_**     You know you gotta help me out ** _

    Two floors below, the sun had already hidden and the figures from the halls were all but shadows, Michael made his way back to his quarters with lips set ablaze, a devious smirk fixed on them as he lingered in the feeling. His skin, it was burning, in the best way possible. The life of him had been thus far chaotic and unpredictable, filled with peaks and slopes of treason and terror, but for once he was allowing himself to dwell in a sensation that rather than corrupted, was sacred.

    Sacred, he could have laughed at the thought. And in the grim corner of a certain hallway, a couple steps away from his door, he did.

__**     And when there’s nowhere else to run  
    Is there room for one more son  
    These changes ain’t changing me  
    The cold-hearted boy I used to be **

    A distraction, alright, a terrible unfixable mistake. That’s what Mallory could become, and he was aware of it. A grand scheme brewing below the clear wooden floors and far down was what this was, but he was starting to believe— and he was probably right —there was little to nothing he could do about it.

    Michael shut to door and glanced across his room, taking in the tidiness, whiteness of it all. The entire place was an omen to light, as was her, he could picture her in her light summer dresses, her soft wavy hair and her frosting-stained lips. How sweet, how awful. The taste of her he couldn’t wash off, he closed his eyes as he sat on the bed, hands grabbing tight at his own thighs, he could feel her, still. Was she not aware of the feelings she brought to a wake? Sweet feathery little nothings turned to firm demanding movements; that little tyrant, had winded up and claim his lips as her own. He offered his truest surrender, and fought no fights. A part of him had not believed he had kissed her, he really couldn’t believe it entirely.

    His first, he thought, hopefully also his last.

    Although more than romantic, it felt like the predictable foreword of an impending disaster.

__**Yeah, you know you got to help me out  
      Yeah, oh don’t you put me on the backburner  
      You know you gotta help me out  
      You’re gonna bring yourself down  
      Yeah, you’re gonna bring yourself down**

     Michael then found himself, like a little boy, wondering if maybe she was thinking of him, if saying their goodbyes in a manner so stoic had been alright, if maybe he had to stop by her room before dinner in case she happened to hide away yet again.

   His very dearest had hidden away, but far from doing so in her own room surrounded by twinkling lights and tapestries, she had slipped right into Cordelia’s room. Mallory was then holding onto her supreme’s hand, carefully rubbing her thumbs against her skin. It felt so soft and thin, like petals, she was afraid that if she dipped her thumb in or rubbed too hard she would pierce through it.

    Mallory’s voice was trembling, Zoe was sitting on a side of Cordelia’s mattress as she was to the opposite end of it, both of the young girls watching over her with an undying eye.

    “So the Test of the Seven Wonders has been” she struggled to find a good term “postponed?”

    Cordelia nodded solemnly, appearing to sink further down “I’m afraid it has, I am not in the shape of guiding through it, and it’s very important for us to keep a good eye on the boy while he’s at it.”

     Zoe bargained in with caution “Do you think the warlocks would help him? Try to cheat?”

    “At this point, with so many complications for them and my poor state of health” the tone of her voice showed just how frustrated she was yet how steadfast she stood “We can expect just about anything from these warlocks.”

    Mallory swallowed hard.

    “What would you need us to do?”

__**I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
   I got soul, but I’m not a soldier**

    Both Zoe and Mallory held onto Cordelia’s hands, the latter had her eyes fixed onto the distance.

    “I need you to be strong, and I need you to be wary.”

__**I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier**

    A once holy body had weakened, the rise of an Alpha had posed a threat to the coven’s stability and everything they had ever known, their leader lied in bed hoping and praying for a little strength to seep through in the following days to, at least, getting over with one of their many problems at hand. Rest assured, Cordelia Goode had seen much brighter days, but the flame inside her was still burning bright. That much they could tell from their unwavering convictions.

    Obediently, both Zoe and Mallory nodded, watching Myrtle shift around the room with her phone to her ear, whatever the conversation was about was none of their knowledge, these days it felt as though there were more problems than solutions, and the look the younger two exchanged showed as much fear as it showed confusion. Not knowing what followed, it was killing them, but it was also killing Delia; even more so.

    “If something ever happened to me, which is likely…” the supreme trailed off “…I’m gonna need you to do everything that it’s at your reach to protect our coven”

    Mallory tested the waters, asking what Zoe herself had been wondering for days now.

    “Do you believe the warlocks are looking for hurting us? I mean, when he becomes the Alpha?”

    “If he becomes the Alpha.” Cordelia corrected, stressing the first word, “But yes, I do believe, Mallory, that the warlocks have been plotting against us all this time. And with me in this state it’s very unlikely the test will go as smoothly as they would hope so.”

__**I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier**

  “There is a reason why you’ve been given the tasks you’ve been given, Mallory…”

    Myrtle’s voice caught her off guard, now the woman was leaning over and holding onto one of Cordelia’s bedposts, her big hazel eyes were fixed on her, and her heart began to pound relentlessly inside her chest.

__**I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier**

    “We have our reasons to believe Michael isn’t the supreme, the Alpha that was promised.”

    While the redhead woman’s voice was ever so present, so sharp and so close, she couldn’t help but feeling herself drifting as her heart followed the echoes of footsteps a floor below, where Mr. Augustus and Mr. Moore, alongside Mr. Chablis exchanged rushed quiet comments amongst themselves, holding onto tumblers full of whiskey and smoking a little too much for the curtains’ sake. They were nervous, they were impatient, but overall, they were hiding something she was yet to know.

    Ariel’s eyes would narrow to the ceiling, as though he was wishing to able to see right through, to listen to what his human ears could not permit him to. The schemes of the drying witches, and their dying wishes.

    Despite the humanity inside of him, the butcher really was willing  to drive his own special, wonder boy lamb, to the gutter for the sake of his precious coven. The look on his face, however charismatic, was diabolical. A Great Chancellor with a greater thirst for power.

    No good news whatsoever.

__**I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier  
    I got soul, but I’m not a soldier**

    Back in Cordelia’s quarters she held onto herself, waiting for a sentence that was yet to be finished. This time it was Cordelia who looked out for her hand and squeezed, much harder than Mallory would have expected, if well she didn’t twitch she definitely felt her heart skipping a bit.

    She only wished she hadn’t said that.

    “We think it might be you.” and with that, it all became a blur.

__**     Yeah, you know you got to help me out  
    Yeah, oh don’t you put me on the backburner  
    You know you gotta help me out **

    Long had passed since the dinner, that day it particular it seemed like they all wished to eat on their own, the rumbling halls usually filled with steps and conversations stood still, very much alike to a certain night where Mallory got vexed beyond belief over dinner. No, Michael hadn’t seen her ever since, he ate alone and in peace, waiting for slumber to take over and give in gladly. Let himself drift away and dream of her.

    What he was about to do was reckless not to mention beyond childish. What had they done but exchanging a kiss? It was delusional! He couldn’t call her anything, label anything, ask her for anything. She was still roaming free, going through walls and disappearing like a ghost; and of ghosts he knew. However, the idea of closing his eyes only to meet hers was not sufficient when he knew that in spite of sharing dreams he couldn’t touch her, he couldn’t feel the warmth under his cheeks as he had, earlier.

    Was it too much for him to wish to say goodnight, at least? See her face only last time to grant himself a good night sleep? Michael was debating between staying and taking the chance. He could feel her, moseying between the four walls of her bedroom, he could feel the convenient absence of her nuisance of a roomate.      Was it too much to take the opportunity while he still could? He’d grow to forget the joy of those little moments, along would come the day those would be meaningless. Better taste the sweetness while he could, while he still felt human.

__**     You’re gonna bring yourself down  
    Yeah, oh don’t you put me on the backburner  
    Yeah, you’re gonna bring yourself down **

    Two soft knocks and he stood outside her door.

    He could feel the fumbling coming from the inside, the shift of sheets and the sound of little steps coming towards him from the bed, which probably smelled of fressia too, which would probably warm, as were her cheeks. His Mallory came to open the door, hair falling over her face. Something happened, he could tell, her eyes were slightly fogged over as though she had been crying; it almost seemed like she was expecting someone else.

    “Hey…” she whispered, as though they were a secret, and they probably were.

    Michael couldn’t wrap his head around how something so mundane and so silly filled with such joy.

    “Hey” he plainly replied, pupils blown wide.

    And Mallory could note the hint of blue, still haloing his eyes somewhere in there, he was still a dream to look at, even if he had all the potential to become a nightmare. She had been thinking of him all night long since Cordelia’s revelation, since the moment she found out that spot he already call his could be easily ripped from his hands by no less than her. The girl with the frosting on the corner of her mouth.

    “I’ve come here to say goodnight” he announced, masked with nonchalant politeness.

    Mallory shrugged, and inside of her some imaginary alarm went off. She had to stay away, no matter how hard it was for her to ignore how the air became filled with static. Her smile was sweet.

    “You’ve got the worst excuses ever” she teased, leaning against her door frame.

    Inevitably, he did the same, chuckling as he pressed his arm over her head on the door frame, leaning forward ever so slightly. Mallory had to look up at him from where she was, as he was considerably taller than her, it was odd to see him so giddy, so boyish. It was almost endearing.

    “Perhaps.” he smiled, brighter than before, and his hand came to brush hers as it lingered there, “I thought it would be fitting, to call it something, see you here before I see you there.”

    Mallory understood the reference right the way, having longed to fall asleep herself for a while now, only if it meant she would get to see him. Bittersweet, it was, and forbidden. Both of them knew pretty well that it was risky for them to becoming involved with each other, it was still early, they could still turn away and walk out unharmed. They knew it.

    “Don’t you think it would be better, easier, if we stick to the dreams?”

    Blues were glued to her hazels, and she could see how in confusion he knitted his brow “How so?”

    “You know what I mean,” she gritted between her tears, trying not to roll her eyes “this thing, this thing could be bad for us. It could bring more trouble than it’s worth. And you know it.”

    Michael nodded in comprehension, he didn’t look to happy about it. Because he knew it was true.

    “We’re on opposite bands, I get it” he retorted, “but you know as well as me there is no use in pretend it’s meaningless. Don’t you there saying what happened today was nothing.”

   Mallory sighed, cutting him off “I never said that.”

    “Then what is the problem? I know we’re both clueless about it, but wouldn’t you like to know?” Oh, how she wished he hadn’t looked at her with those pleading eyes.

    “I… You know I do” taking a pause she licked her lip, a gesture that didn’t pass unnoticed by him, he nearly ducked entirely into her by the mere sight “I just don’t think it’s prudent, Michael, I don’t want to get ourselves in any unnecessary trouble.”

    The blonde man rubbed his thumbs on the back of her hand, Mallory gazed up to look into those eyes who shone as feverishly as the ones she had seen in a dream, he didn’t overlook a single gesture, a single twitch, Mallory could feel just how focused he was on her, and it was turning her into wet clay. Michael hovered over her and placed one gentle kiss on her forehead. The peace than ran through her only made his proposition more dangerous.

    “No one has to know.” he whispered against her skin, and she could feel his eyelashes brushing on her forehead as he looked down at her, at her parted lips. His voice was soaked in temptation.

    “Yes, but my sisters…”

    “…I won’t do anything to put you in any risk or to make you lose your graces, Mallory” he finished.

    The light-haired witch let out a strangled chuckle, there was no happiness but frustration (of many kinds, one in particular) looked up to him and found their lips an inch apart, they had come to share air again. And they were so close now it burned, both of them knew what they were in for, he knew why he had come up and she knew what she had opened the door to him.

    His hand continued to caress her own and went down to her forearm, spreading goosebumps on her skin. Mallory could not believe someone was capable of making such a mess out of her so quickly. She was infatuated, yes, and furious all the same.

    “Who  _are_  you?” she asked him in a whisper, both angered and amazed.

_**Over and again, last call for sin  
** _ _**While everyone’s lost, the battle is won…** _

    “I don’t know…” he breathed, cutting the space between them off within a heartbeat. He looked as puzzled and as eager for answers, “…who are  _you?_ ”  and so he kissed her, like he had been wanting to.

**_     …with all these things that I’ve done. _ **

    That it was, all it was, the beginning of their very end. His and hers. Mixed in another needy osculation, the kind two souls would sure after wandering aimlessly a few lifetimes around. Michael held onto her waist, her hands clinging onto the crisp white shirt he hadn’t changed yet, that still sported a faint hint of her perfume.

    Ridiculous as it was, Ariel and company were fast asleep. Cordelia had finally given into slumber and her fever had been burned out, the girls scattered in several rooms waiting for another day of routine to come by. While those two kissed like life depended on it, like they hadn’t just met, like they weren’t making a horrible mistake by letting themselves me driven by their sheer impulses. On the brink of annihilation, and years prior to another unfortunate pairing, they had managed to bring something to life when all around them was dying.

_ **If you can hold on…  
   If you can hold on…** _


	6. Two Tests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever! I know! Life has been crazy and, believe it or not, it's been such a wild ride to decide the fate of the fic after the season finale. The pace well, it's there, I'm still trying to get ahold of it; but I am happy to continue this story! As I made you guys wait so much I thought I might as well give you a little treat ;) ;) But it was one that came rushed due to the amount of scenes I wanted to add (the chapter was split into two, and I decided to upload the half that was ready here) so here it is. I hope you guys like it.

   “So this is where the tests are supposed to take place, then?”

 

    Madison sighed, arms tightly crossed over her frame “Yes.” 

 

    Something in her voice made it very clear that there was no room for negotiation in that matter, not like Mallory was feeling like protesting, anyway.

 

    And perhaps she should, perhaps she should kick, and scream, and cry, and do everything in her power to sabotage herself as though it was not a very grave mistake. Perhaps she had to throw overboard everything they had been working on for two weeks now, as long as that would grant her with a little peace of mind. Because, for the life of her, peace had been the last thing she had been given. 

 

    Really.

 

    There they were, Madison, Zoe, and Mallory, huddled up against the wooden structure of a rickety barn somewhere at the outskirts of Louisiana; it had been one hell of a drive there, trapped inside a beat-up car, following the strict instructions of Supreme dearest, no discussion. Maybe the girls could have been easily misled by the lack of mention of the subject into thinking maybe Mallory wasn’t really the rightful prospect for the supremacy, and that Cordelia had been simply hallucinating due to that hellish fever. Once again, wrong. A couple days after Mallory had been pried from her bed, locked alongside her sisters inside some dusty and moss-covered basement somewhere in the French Quarters, where Myrtle and a slightly better looking Cordelia explained to her that she had to undergo the test of the Seven Wonders before Michael got to perform it, himself. Talk about an inner conflict.

 

    “Are you sure there is no way the warlocks can trace us back to this place, if so they tried?”

 

    “Some voodoo bullshit queen owed Cordelia a favor” she asserted, in that aloof little voice of her that was as unattached as it was sweet, a combination for danger “She said we would be safe as long as we used that car she ‘enchanted’ for us. For all that matters, neither Michael or his minions will be able to find us here.”

 

    “Still, I’m afraid we will have to do this in secret.” said Zoe from atop a pile of dried-out hay. 

 

    Madison shared a little look with her, as though they were giving each other a little push, a confidence boost, and Mallory couldn’t help but feeling unsure. They were around her same age, they were just as green and gullible as Mallory was. If something went wrong, it was on them. All of them. 

 

    “Yes, Mallory” the actress’ eyes were big and bright and she took the other’s hands in hers. Something way out of character for the usually catty and crass Madison Montgomery “Cordelia believes you’ve drawn Michael’s attention, and we all know it would be suspicious of you if you suddenly began to avoid him. But bear in mind that if he suddenly sees something suspicious in you, he won’t hesitate in telling Ariel.”

 

    Zoe interrupted  “And then Ariel will tell Baldwin, who will tell the others—”

 

    “—And then they’ll all fuck us up.” Madison concluded, the look on her face almost comical. 

 

    Mallory nodded, nodded so much and so fast she was afraid her head would pop right off. An anxious, consuming feeling settled at the pit of her stomach and burned its way down like bile,  it was already hard enough having to sneak around and play pretend, to now also be aware of Cordelia seeing Michael’s interest in her, unaware of something much more gruesome lying underneath. That’s what her life had become, smudged lipstick and late night calls, always meeting at the foot of the staircase, hoping and praying that Kyle won’t find them in the middle of locking fingers, rushing into some empty room, locked in there until the sun comes up. The more this thing grew, the worse she felt. 

 

    “I just wish Miss Cordelia was here with us” she confessed, holding onto her own hands.

 

    “She wishes to…” said Zoe from behind her, urging Mallory to turn her head and press her back to one of the wooden pillars, “...but while we’re here, preparing you, she’s at The Academy preparing Michael, herself.”

 

    “Un-fucking-believable.” Mallory scoffed, hadn’t anyone thought about how dangerous that was? 

 

    Zoe’s brow knitted in confusion, wondering what had vexed Mallory so out of sudden.

 

    “I mean” she took a huff of air, sharply, closing her eyes as to caliber her response in order not to sound too crass, “How will I know if us, three apprentices, are doing a good job with my own training? How will I know we won’t end up fucking up greatly and have me stuck in hell performing Descendum like it happened to Misty? I suppose you will all have to act like I suddenly didn’t vanish out of thin air and pretend I moved to Montana, or something, because I think that would be a tad fucking obvious.”

 

    Her voice tone, her demeanor, the fact she brought up Misty even if she never got the chance to meet her and it could be deemed as uncalled for. It was unbecoming. But Mallory couldn’t hide her fear any longer, all she could hide was the one thing that went past every line they had drawn. 

 

    Madison, however, looked at Mallory with a gaze full of hardly contained agreement; as though she had been keeping in for ages now, and nobody had listened to her. When the blonde shrugged and nodded off as eagerly as she had, before, it was a bit on the nose. None of them were sure about the plan. 

 

    “I told her that myself” her voice was cutting, but not towards Zoe, or Mallory.

 

    “What did Miss Cordelia say?” asked the trainee, all too small and bashful again. 

 

    “Well, she said that Zoe and I had to help you. That you were still too green to handle this on your own and that, unfortunately, her deal with Ariel Augustus and the rest of his flock was helping Michael, rather than sabotaging him, prior to the test. So she’s teaching him classes now…” that last bit she said it with a bit of outrage, eyes widened like plates. 

 

    An awkward silence filled the barn, but none of them were much too aware of it, sunken deep within their thoughts. So different, yet so similar. Filled with images of their Supreme teaching the enemy magic tricks, treating him as a son or at least an equal, pretending she wasn’t potentially sending her girls to the gutter.

 

    The worst part was, unlike the rest, Mallory didn’t have the morals to go ahead and complain. One, because the deal had been far settled by the time she ever so rudely bargained into Ariel and Cordelia’s conversation a little over a month ago, and two, because while her sisters were filled with dread and expectation she was clung onto Michael Langdon with her fingers laced through his gilded hair, his hands on her waist, his lips latched to the base of her throat. In fact, she had her phone thrown at the bottom of the glove compartment of the car, but she was certain that the second she turned it back on, at least three messages from Michael would make her screen blink. Probably trying to bribe her into telling him where she was. 

 

    Especially after what happened two nights before.

 

    At least they had taken enough precautions and Michael, alongside the others, were convinced all of the girls were taken out of The Academy during his training hours; which was true. Everyone was supposed to have a given task, and Mallory plus her combo being the eldest were given a task of their own. The mere thought made her flinch and miss Coco, had she been there with her she would have felt safe, she wished she could reach out and feel the soft tug of her hand. The shimmery red of her nails smooth and polished underneath her fingertips.

 

    Mallory, thus, felt alone, ashamed, and defeated.

 

    “What are we ought to do today?” she inquired, hungry for a change of subject.

 

    Zoe was the one to talk “Pyrokinesis, that’s the first one on our list!”

 

    “Yes, just try not to… Set the whole barn on fire or something of the sort, yes?” Madison’s voice was cautious, and taking Mallory’s ability to control fire (rather enlarge it up to cataclysmic proportions) she had her reasons to.  Mallory swallowed hard, damn, she had her reasons to.

 

    “I’m not trying to die today. And neither are you, trust me, it sucks” 

 

 

    His widened eyes had been fixated on the flame for a little too long now, he could see it flicker. On, off, on off. It enlarged, in engrounched, but it didn’t change in color; it was just amber and yellow, just as vibrant and bright. Rest assured it had taken him some effort, but not to cast the flame itself, but to keep it from looking too peculiar. Michael was no strange to hellfire, he wasn’t looking for his powers to make the others even more suspicious; all of them but Ariel, of course, he had to thank him for the opportunity.

 

    Even if there was no such a thing as real gratitude amongst opportunists. 

 

    “That’s great, Michael, that’s more than perfect” cheered Cordelia from her settee. 

 

    Eyes placed on him, on the flame that poured from his hand as though he turned himself into lighter. Michael had to admit that, if well deceiving, he was actually kind of glad he had her approval. Kind of was an understatement. It embarrassed him so, but days had passed and so had several classes and he was convinced that if well using the coven was just another step on the ladder, he was thankful of Cordelia Goode. That stuck up, preppy, goodie-two-shoes who thoroughly refused to be anything but candor and caring to her girls. He was the outsider, the dog astray, posing as an ally.

 

    “Thank you.” he muttered, the corners of his mouth twitching downwards in an awkward smile.

 

    “So natural…” the woman mused, mostly to herself, prompting herself to her feet as the muppet-looking redhead behind her hurried back waiting for her to show any signs of fainting as to catch her. Cordelia smiled, nonetheless, and turned to glance at a smug-faced Ariel in the corner “...Just like you told me, Ariel.”

 

    The aludded simply showed the palms of his hands in a nonchalant gesture “Told you, of course I told you. My boy will ace those tests one by one, and we’re calling it. You’re seeing it. We’re all feeling it.”

 

    “Yeah, at least he didn’t go fucking Valhalla on us and set the whole bitch ablaze, another incident like the one with the blizzard wouldn’t come in handy.” the ring of John Henry’s voice was a bitter taste of reality in this fantasy world they were living in. One where Michael wasn’t a poser and Cordelia his biggest threat.

 

    Ariel didn’t hesitate in hissing his response, annoyed off his mind “Do you need to put your two cents in  _ everything _ Michael says or does, John?” rolling his eyes to shoot a glare, John took another drag of his cigarette and shrugged as who’s seen it all, and was not impressed by it.

 

    “The boy’s a walking piggy bank” he mocked, flicking some ash out of window.

 

    Cordelia and Michael both looked at them in interest, although yet again it annoyed him to think of John and tell himself he was doing this to offend him, the poor man looked jealous beyond belief but Michael knew better than anyone, that it was only because he felt what he was. He had always done so. 

 

    “Let’s focus on Michael’s learning, yes?” said Cordelia, intruding the conversation with a grace of her own. Having done so, Michael couldn’t help but to copy the gesture and write it back down on his imaginary database. He liked to study them, the gestures, see what they meant and how to use them; it made him feel above what was human, not to do it all by mistake but by design. Deceive, contain, refrain. 

 

    “I guess.” John said under his breath before taking another drag, Michael shrunk his nose at the heightened scent of tobacco and looked the other way. Disgusting.

 

    “Again, Michael. You did so, so well” her soft hand was placed to his arm and he flashed the tiniest smile. But also noticed how frail and pale the woman was looking.

 

    Myrtle had sure done a wonderful job doing Cordelia’s makeup and hair in order to show her more lively, making him suspect maybe she had looked beyond repulsive in the days that had passed; a part of him felt like this was a plot against him, that she was faking ill, but now the bluish veins on her forearms and hands were enough evidence of just how much she had weakened. Michael didn’t cease to be marveled by his own power.

 

    It minded little to think that maybe this was just the coven playing pretend and buying themselves a little more time with the hopes of staling Michael’s progress, this way strengthening Cordelia enough to fight him in some way. Not like she looked any better, up close, however beautiful she really was. 

 

    “I appreciate your guidance and wisdom, as do my mentors, here.” Michael’s voice was prim and proper, the perfect image of the perfect warlock still intact. From the crisp white shirt tied with a slick black bow and the neatness of his hair, Michael looked wise beyond his years. Not a foreign concept for him, if you took in consideration that in his living years, for any other human, he would be just a child. “Again, Miss Goode. We’re doing all we can possibly do to make this process as easy as it can be, for all of us.”

 

    With this her gaze lowered, nodding off in a humbling, appreciative gesture. Once, and only for his sick pleasure, he brought himself to ask a rather unusual question;  _ “How’ve you been feeling?” _

 

    Her dark eyes darted up to him and she tilted her head with parted lips “I’ve been holding up very well.”  _ smart girl _ , he thought. She didn’t say worse, as to make him feel he was becoming more powerful, which he didn’t doubt. But she didn’t say better, as to make him suspect anything. “Thank you for asking.”

 

    Michael smiled, but deep down it was a devilish, sadistic smirk he was giving. He allowed himself to think about it, then, of her. Of the sweet little girl that had been keeping him company for the past month or so. The shape of her eyes, the softness of her skin, the slick sweetness of her tongue mingling with his, somewhere up against a wall in one of the manor’s numerous rooms. This very one, for example, only two nights ago he had scurried her in it, and the image was all too clear for him, for him not to dwell in it for a second, call it a bit of a smooth thought for his sore mind. Tired of all this pretending.

  
  
  
  


    “Michael, shit, you scared me” Mallory’s small hand had raced to press itself to her chest, over her heart.

 

    The shock had lasted merely fractions of a second, before his beloved let out a harmonious quiet laugh and reached up to snake her arms over his shoulders with a little bit of difficulty as their heights were so different, Michael leaned into her touch in perfect sync to be taken hostage by her pretty little lips, always painted in soft pink in stark contrast with the coal-looking hues of her eye makeup. He responded to the kiss by instinct, by desire, moving his own lips over hers with their tilting heads adding some maddening, drunkening motion to their little fanfare. His hands latched to her tight little waist and brought her close, pressed to the warmth of his skin, the deviant beating of his wicked heart; oh, how she made it pound unraveled. She smelled so good, she always did, so fruity and flowery sweet, pure, he could guess. And she began to sizzle in sparkles whenever he touched her, something that drove him mad, the notes of her perfume intensified when he did so, to the point she was all he felt around him. 

 

    “Good, because I wanted to scare you.” he smirked, barely half an inch between their lips. 

 

    Her hazel eyes widened in interest and complicity, not wasting any seconds before she gave him another demolishing little smile, it was such a exquisite feeling to see her bloom before him. Feeling those days of rivalry and discomfort so far behind them. Mallory was a sweetheart, the very embodiment of such, she made his hellish stay at Robichaux feel even the slightest bit sugar coated. Truth be told he was becoming attached. 

 

    Very much so. 

 

    “You’re such an asshole!” she shouted in a whisper, their noses were teasingly brushing each other again and again, side to side, sprinkled on top by how raspy her voice was whenever she spoke to him like that. He was wet clay under her hands, he could feel the goosebumps spreading the second she toyed with the hair on the back of his neck. 

 

    All he could do was chuckling grimly in reply, his lips were atop hers, but they weren’t kissing. He was speaking against her shooting his warm breath into her parted lips “Well you’ve been ignoring me all day long, you owed me!” he whined, breaking apart just enough for him to look down at her with a faux stern face, as who nags at a child for her misbehaviour “You walked around the house, looking like that, all day long and not a look you threw my way. So heartless and uppity, out of sudden…”

 

    She interrupted him, her voice sweet “We were told, specifically, not to disturb or distract you while you were training for your impending test. I had to keep my distance” he smiled smugly at her, half-playing his part of the displeased, angered boyfriend “Besides, we’re supposed to be a secret, remember?” 

 

    Michael sighed dramatically and put some distance between them, folding hands behind his back dizzying her by the sudden rush of cold air that followed the lack of his warmth all over her. It was his little, almost imperceptible yet well-acknowledged punishment. 

 

    “Yes, I remember.” 

 

    In response, Mallory chuckled, reaching out to lace her slender fingers with his. He welcomed her gladly, continuing to engage in this weird waltz of theirs to come closer for a few seconds, touch each other lovingly, gazing back at the other and parting again. They were like bumper cars on a dead short, clashing into each other and reversing every two seconds. She had ran him over thrice, he still was helpless. 

 

    “Don’t be mean, then,” she asked him, “You know I just want you to do your best. It’s no easy task, that test, I can’t help but feeling worried about how well you will do. I just don’t want to be some burden and distract you when you have got more things to tend to.” 

 

    The blue in his eyes was sparkling, even in the dark of the hallway, in the dead of night. Where they used to meet before head elsewhere for a couple of hours; within the realms of the manor, of course, they were still unable to venture further and exploring their surroundings or some gritty distant place they could eat greasy food at while joking. Acting like themselves for once without the fear of blowing their act. This was something, of course, but they were aware it would lead them nowhere. 

 

    Mallory feared, actually, that it would end the second he made his way back to California. But there was nothing she could do about it, so she made the decision of enjoying their time while it lasted. 

 

    Considering everything they were keeping from each other, it was the least they could do.

 

    It was hard for him to bite back a laugh, but he did. Giving her the most self-sufficient, bastard-looking grin in the whole state of Louisiana “See…?” he crashed his lips to hers again, breaking apart only when her little gasps made it clear she needed air “... _ Now _ you sound like a girlfriend.”

 

    Of course they scurried into one of their reading rooms, walking around like they didn’t fear to make thuds with their footsteps, dancing to no music, whispering all close to nothing to each other. Michael had invited his darling dearest to meet him on the loveseat, it was dark (usually wouldn’t take any chances to let anyone know they were occupying any space, last thing they needed was Zoe or Madison asking them what the fuck they were doing snuggling up on a couch in the middle of the night) very dark, but she could see the gleam in his eyes and that was about enough for her to take the cue.

 

    The second she was halfway through he made an easy gesture with his hand and a candle became aflame. She had started noticing, like that moment, when she stood before him with her mouth slightly open staring right into the lazy flame, just how easy magic was becoming for him. No words, just gestures, those so flowy and natural they resemble some sort of dance. Maybe even a trance. 

 

    “Join me.” he said softly, same hand now outstretched for her to take. 

 

    Angelic as he may be, Mallory had to admit something stirred deep inside of her, and saw in his face all sorts of warnings tightly tucked underneath all of his invitations. Gullible as she was, she ignored them, and took his hand as softly and as dearly as she possibly could, Michael pulling her downwards firmly, all ready for him to wrap his arms around. 

 

    “If anyone comes out the hallway, they’ll get to see the flame…” she warned him, nervously. 

 

    Michael replied by simply nuzzling his nose into the back of her shoulder, taking in the fresh aroma of her lotion; inwardly snickering at how he sabotaged her sleeping schedule, and her life, altogether. Seconds later he placed a feathery kiss to her skin, and limited himself to breathe out his reply.

 

    “Close the door, use your mind” he whispered, Mallory looked over her shoulder with her eyebrows raised, as to ask him if he was serious “Come on,” was his sweet words of encouragement, squeezing her arms “I know you can do it. I’ve heard them, Mallie, you’re brilliant.” 

 

    Why of course he had, and why of course he knew how to rub her ego the right way. 

 

    The witch cleared her throat after turning her gaze to the white wooden doors, those so old and delicate. A single door would cost more than her mother’s car, so she had to be careful and not get carried away; she had been  _ training _ , anyway. Her eyes narrowed and her tiny chin tilted up. And so the door closed at her command, without making a sound. 

 

    “See? Child’s play.” he teased her, pretty self-sufficient.

 

    Mallory knew he watched her closely, not just because he was dating her, not only because he was tempting her to sneak around and about in the dead of the night. No. Michael had sensed something in her, and she could feel it, from the moment he crashed her lessons just to see her up close and detail was methods; Mallory wasn’t a woman of methods, to begin with, the phenomenon of her life had been a series of unprecedented experiments with no clear conclusions. She was just starting to get a grip on reality and the expectations she was supposed to fulfill in her coven. 

 

    He brought her to shift, helping her to nestle in his arms, just enjoying the closeness. They had been playing this game, lately Michael had chosen to attend dinner with the others bringing Behold Chablis along (like his fake-ass friendship with Myrtle would make his and Mallory’s endeavors any easier or any better) and sat down by her side, brushing her hand and lacing their fingers ever so slightly. He felt her jump, her breathing halting for a second, looking in alarm into his eyes.  _ Be careful,  _ hers seemed to shout.

 

    “Child’s play, just that.” she echoed, caressing gently the arm he had over her frame.

 

     Michael brought his lips down to meet her forehead, she felt them so soft and so warm. It urged her to ask for another kiss of her own, but she controlled herself. Her own mind racing with fears and with questions, trying her best to keep her secret safe. Because God only knows what would happen if he found out. 

 

    “What’s on your mind?” he mused with his voice soft, his chin atop her head.

 

    Mallory shrugged dismissively “Nothing.” she lied, “Just dust and scribbles.”

 

    In response he hummed, making her wonder if he believed her. Just before suspicion got the best of him and anxiety got the best of her, the ghost of his fingers started caressing the downy skin of her arm, tracing up and down so gently it felt like breeze. She leaned backwards into his chest and closed her eyes at the feeling; it was burning her so, the desire of being wrapped in dimness and blankets instead. Safe in their own space, no more hiding, just them. Touching, feeling, breathing,  _ sinning. _

 

    “Oh, so sensitive. So responsive.” he praised quietly, only then bringing to her attention and awareness that the surface he touched was covered in goosebumps, what else did he expect? “Don’t be embarrassed, I love it.” he told her, it hurt to crane so much her neck, but to see his face made it worth it. 

 

    “You really want to see me reduced to mush, huh?” 

 

     He leaned forward and licked the shell of her ear, causing her to shudder “There’s nothing I want more.”

 

     Desire, temptation. They dressed themselves as friends of hers before they stabbed her in the back, they played good-spirited and coy only to throw her over, she had to be careful if didn’t want to do anything she would later regret. Mallory wasn’t stupid, she shared rooms with Coco and she played it nice, she refused to go up to his room claiming they were way too close to the warlocks and said they meet downstairs instead, but at the midst of their need and confusion Michael found a crack to slip through. 

 

    Jesus, innuendo unintended. 

 

    Either way she let herself go, and brought herself further up to turn and place her lips on his. She could feel the grin stretching them out as she did so, wanted to slap it right off, but instead she melted right into him as she knew he would. His tongued lined her lower lip and he brought his own lips to suck, earning a quiet groan for her, perfect opportunity to slide in and coerce it into play, soon before long the game was on; hands tangled in hair, teeth clashing and lips hurting. 

 

    His palm was exploring dangerously close to the waistband of her plaid pajama pants, but he dragged it upwards coyly, going under the hem of her black top and sliding up. Never had he ever allowed himself to touch that far, and he could only pray it was okay with her. Sure, their touches grew rough and maybe he did palm her over the top of her dress once or twice, wishing to feel skin, hoping to feel it and take it all in. 

 

    “ _ Ah, _ we shouldn’t be here” she whined, lips parted and eyes shut.

 

    Michael ghosted his lips on her neck, and planted wet sloppy kisses on the boiling hot surface.

 

    “Why? Should we move it elsewhere?” 

 

_ Fuck, she wanted to say yes so bad. _ Mallory shook her head no, but even as she did she had fistsful of his shirt in her hands, inside her throat there was a knot, as there was deep into her lower belly, it was coiling and recoiling furiously. It was throbbing, with need, with every wet touch of his the more unbearable it would become, Mallory was slowly yet surely grinding herself on him, her hips falling victim to the strong grip of his hands, they stayed for a moment before he slid them back under her shirt. Riding up, way up, waiting for her to say ‘stop’, but the puritan request never came. 

 

    All he felt was the hitched breathing, shaky inside her neck, the pulse that threatened with bursting right out, the goosebumps fading just to be replaced by hellish sparks. He felt them everywhere, many degrees above the temperature of the room, the radius around their loveseat was burning, as were they. 

 

     Kissing ensued, extremely needy, ever so youthful and irresponsible. So delicious.

 

    “Hmm… I want you…” he breathed on her lips.

 

    Mallory held onto him tighter, clenching around nothing as she heard him. At last his hands came in contact with her bare breasts under the top, jolting lightly at the warmth and softness of his skin, he was kneading the soft mounds with care, devotion, breathing out soundly against her parted lips as who finishes to take a gulp of cherry cola after thirsting for hours. Her core was slick and soaked, friction being all too unfair when she pressed her thighs together; Michael, on his end, could smell her need from where he was, hinting it sweet as ambrosia and just as heavenly. The girl kept grinding on him, so unlike her to suddenly see her so needy and aroused, it only made him grow harder; and it was already a hard soul to save, the one of his, with her small, succulent body brushing his so obscenely. 

 

    “Won’t you let me pleasure you, love of mine? Just this once?” he pleaded, eyes clouded by devotion and lust alike. 

 

    “Y-Yes…” she replied in a shaky breath, nodding her head. Her small fingers were trailing downwards on his neck, she could feel him breathing hard and breathing deep; it would not be precisely romantic to have sex (their first, of all times) in a reading room, of all places. She thought of herself, climaxing and shaking, struggling to keep her noises on the low. No, it would not be fair, but she would grant him with some sweetness, regardless. 

 

    Just like that, her shirt was gone. Pulled from the hem and tossed over her head, Mallory was feeling bare and even fought the reflex of covering herself in shame, there was no room for shame here, not anymore. His hungry ocean eyes were roaming her every fiber, the same way he looked at her all those days back when she placed that silver platter in front of him; he was hungry, hungry and curious, although this one time she didn’t feel like looking away. Rather chose to enjoy of his sight as much as he enjoyed the one of her. 

 

    “Darling, I don’t know who made you. But bear in mind, whoever did, made your God jealous.”

 

    She was startled by his words, but all too enticed by him to let anxiety take over. It was by impulse alone that she let her hands run up his stomach, riding his own t-shirt up, Michael took the hint quite promptly and pulled at it from his back, squirming out of it eagerly and letting it drop next to her own right in front of the couch. Underneath the candlelight his skin looked pristine and perfect, inviting her to touch further, and so she did. Again she was aching, throbbing and pulsing around the ghost of him, wishing he was filling her instead. But it was not to be, she couldn’t allow it.

 

    “I can’t go all the way” she confessed, deeply embarrassed, gently caressing a side of his face.

 

   Michael narrowed his eyes at her with care, but they were just as warm. It almost looked, for a second, that worry and embarrassment filled his gaze for a second fearing having done something wrong; he quickly shook that heavy thought away, and kissed the inner side of her wrist, the one so close to his face, as his thumb circled the back, lovingly “We don’t have to,” he assured her, the fondness in his eyes was inexorable “I just want to touch you, feel you, please you.”

 

    She swallowed hard.

 

    “You don’t even have to touch me, I’m not doing it for it; even if I’m aching” he confessed, himself, woe filling his voice as to prove this was also a torture to him to an extent “You don’t.”

 

_ Of course I don’t, _ she thought,  _ but I want to. _ Before he could process it, before he could stop her, her hand crept past the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, coming in direct contact with his hardened length. Needless to say, he mewled in response.

 

    “Mallory, fuck!” he shouted, a bit too loud for their convenience. 

 

    She wished to see him whole, since what she was feeling was beyond arousing. He was thick, very much so, and long enough for each jerk to take a little more time than another would; she traced his outline from base to tip a couple of times, Michael responded by jerking up his hips, nearly shaking at the touch. The protruding veins under her fingertips made her mouth water, and her sweet dirty touches caused him to spur out a great amount of precum, covering him whole. Mallory teased the tip with her thumb, spreading it, tugging his pants down to his mid-thigh with the other hand in the process. To see him was even worse.

 

    Under the dim light, he was glistening, pulsing and reddened. This encouraged her to first her hand up and down a couple of times, even if she struggled a bit to get a grip with her hand being so small. He was clenching his jaw, chest rising and dropping as he struggled to breathe. They locked eyes, expecting and enamored, she could see his soul leaving him at the moment her tongue teased that one spot between his shaft and his head, that delicious swollen outline that begged to be sucked. So she did, she wrapped her innocent lips around it and flicked her tongue slowly over it every time she puckered up her lips and sucked her way up. Letting him around of her mouth with little pops. 

 

    Her mouth was spilling and her lips were shiny with precum already, they had only been a few pumps.

 

    “I could fucking devour you…” she said, and it was not like her to say so. But it felt right, it felt so guttural and unbecoming of her. Like a side of her was awakening, the side that wanting him to squirm the more, to fill not only her mouth but all her senses with his scent and taste.

 

_ Fuck,  _ no man was supposed to smell this good. She was sure of it. But she was also certain that this man, with his ice-blue eyes, and his overly human abilities, and his ashy blonde waves was nothing like a normal man. If anything he was nothing like a normal human. Or to boil it down, nothing like normal at all.

 

    He chuckled once, strangled and lustful above her “Then do so,” he complied, his eyes filled not with resignation but complicity, as though he was willing to mantle her wrongdoings “I’m all yours to devour.”

 

    Mallory came down and lowered her lips further down his length, starting to bob her head, testing the waters. Her touch was nothing short of wicked, Michael groaned from the back of his throat and rolled back his eyes letting his head fall limp against the plump surface he lied on. He had to close his eyes, far too entranced by the feeling.

 

    “Stop, wait” he rushed to say, squirming up, distracting her after having pleasured him for a couple of minutes, he explained before she could protest “I’m about to cum, I don’t want to. This was supposed to be about you.”

 

    It was almost endearing, she figured, how he was refusing to give in so easily yet insisted upon stopping her ministrations. Mallory was bold enough to lock eyes with him, forehead shiny with sweat, a couple stray drops rolling down his succulent throat; the man in the suit, dark and blonde, looking at her in that foyer as though she was a fistful of leaves planted in mud. Not so intimidating anymore, huh? All needy and on the verge of spilling like he was then, it made a rush of power run through her, and it even brought her to think maybe she could beat him at his own game. The _ Alpha _ was supposed to be above it all, but a few touches of her own brought him to shake and collapse. 

 

    That was a stroke to her ego, that was a shot up adrenaline through her veins. Despite it all, she found this sudden power move to be an aphrodisiac. That’s exactly why, far from bringing her pleasuring to a halt, Mallory wrapped her fist around the base of his cock and began stroking him fast and firm, quickening the sucking as well, with the sole intention of milking him dry. 

 

    Michael uttered the most obscene, the most blasphemous of sounds the second he orgasmed, shooting his load into her lips and down her throat; it took all in her not to yank off her own bottoms and plug two, three digits into her wet pussy, it had been no doubt the most erotic thing she had ever fucking heard. Even that was an understatement. Mallory swallowed, everything he gave her up to the last drop, she could feel shot after shot of cum coating her tongue accompanied by his grunting, these that were growing weaker by the second. Until they died down and became nothing, a couple of seconds of silence foreshadowing his heavy breathing. He had his eyes closed, blinking heavily to bring them to open and stay that way.

 

    Had it been his first time getting a blowjob? It seemed so, he could barely breathe and he struggled to move, in numerous, countless scenarios Mallory could envision him bringing whoever (man or woman) to their knees in front of him and using them for his own convenience and pleasure. He was gorgeous like so very few, and his self-sufficient, arrogant, teasing demeanor only added to his attractiveness. How come he’d never indulged in such pleasure? It confused her, yes, it also flattered her.

 

    “I…” he commenced, his voice throaty and strangled, “I can’t even begin to describe you.”

 

    The fascination in his voice made her smile, Mallory tucked him back in, fixed his sweatpants and straddled him lightly, knowing he was far too sensitive to apply any pressure to his nether area by fully sitting on him. She kissed his jaw softly, heartbeat pulsing through his skin “Need me to help with that? I got a few ideas” she teased. 

 

    Michael was lying languidly on the loveseat, bringing her down with him so she lied on his chest, heartbeat unbridled underneath her, Mallory feared it’d cause his ribs to break if it kept going at it that way. He laughed, and when he did the sound was tired, natural and marvelous all at once. His arms thrown possessively over her back bringing her close, his lips brushing her forehead lovingly.

 

    His laughter died down, and he hissed to her ear, “Why don’t you lie down for me, instead? You’ve been such a good girl for me” he sweetly retorted, carefully getting her off him, flipping them over.

 

    “A-Ah,” she gasped, moving her arms and pressing her back to the couch, Michael was spreading kisses like they costed nothing, from her lips to the crook of her neck all the way to the valley of her breasts. Wicked hands pressed and squeezed on her ribs, dragging down, dragging down, making her dizzy,

 

    “You leave me no choice.” she teased, knowing pretty damn well she wouldn’t move even if she had one.

 

    He smiled against her skin, and caused her to moan when his tongue flickered over her already hardened nipple. The rosy peaks were already urgent under his touch, demanding any sort of attention, her chest was coming up and down rapidly; to see her in such state for him was exhilarating. He was proud, no lie, pretty much clueless of how his touches would be received, he hadn’t touched anyone this way, anyway.

 

    Hot, moist lips captured one of the buds in his mouth and sucked, hard, with no hesitations, the rest of his palm squeezing tightly. Mallory moaned loudly and muttered a quiet ‘sorry’ when he shot her a quick look, knowing pretty damn well that if they were to be found, it’d be Mallory’s fault. His teeth tugged, nibbled, switching from one breast to the other, leaving visible hickeys on the fair skin of her mounds. Marks of his love for her, bruising her niveous skin, branding her blatantly. Michael could only dream of making the marks permanent, he wished he could sink his sharp, pearly teeth right into the skin of her throat and let blood pour free, let the scar left behind remind her and the others who she belonged to.

 

    And that would be him.

 

    “I bet you’re so fucking wet already” his voice was coarse, his hands were quick. 

    With much ease he undid the knot of the lace of her pajama pants and slid them down her legs painfully slow, Mallory felt like covering, out of the sudden, that forsaken sensation of being observed was painful, she wasn’t used to that kind of attention. At least not the kind that would turn her to nothing. Michael could feel it, as anything else. For a moment he related her nervousness to it and brushed off the rest of his concerns. Another foolish act of his, but it was more convenient to her. His hidden Supreme in the rough. 

 

    Michael spread kisses on her skin, ever inch he uncovered and palmed, feeling her soft and warmth. Summer breeze she was, perhaps an autumn morning. It was an act of hypocrisy, maybe, to preach his hatred for the world and tell himself every morning in the mirror that he was the bringer of destruction and as such he could not allow himself to find his weakness. But damn, with her it was so hard not to take the leap. 

 

     “Relax, Mallie. You’re so nervous.” he chuckled, kindly, meaning no harm.

 

    Mallory laughed as well “Sorry!” she shouted in a whisper, “I just… I feel…”

 

    “I know,” he cut her off, “don’t worry, I’ll have your mind off of it in a second.”

 

    Haughty of him, she thought. But she had to swallow her words and wash them down with a glass of hot water the second positioned himself further down the loveseat between her legs, and experimentally brushed his thumb to her clothed clit, making her arch her back at the spot and roll back her eyes. “Oh, shit!” she spewed, his with tiny fingers coiling her hands in fists. That was enough encouragement for him to keep on rubbing lazily, never straying his gaze. She could have sworn the room was drenched in red light, giving it some unnerving yet enticing glow to it, forget the amber.

 

    The look in his eyes was devious, now pressing the tips of two fingers to her core through the fabric and rubbing softly, roughly every few seconds driving her mad, showing just how soaked she was under her garments. Wreathed in reddish light, all too dim to clearly define any lines, he looked menacing. She was giving in. So it wasn’t a surprise when she felt herself grow weaker and helped with tugging her panties down, she didn’t see where they would land, they simply disappeared. The cold breeze mixed with his hot breath were breaking havoc inside her, Michael parted her legs wider and folded her knees, as he sucked hickies all over her inner thighs. And still she had thought she was the one entitled to devour.

 

    “So fucking wet…” he whispered, even though she heard his voice echoing inside her head, holding her down amidst her shivering when he licked teasingly between her folds sending electricity right through her. Mallie heard him hiss “So fucking  _ sweet _ …” 

 

    His baby was squirming like an animal in heat, tugging his hair, rocking her hips. Michael was lost in her sense, mouth watering with every little playful lick he gave her. She was slick, sticky sweet, like frosting. It drew a smirk on his lips to think of it, to recall how bad he had wanted her even from the moment he first saw her; prancing like a wilding down the stairs and into the foyer in that little summer dress hinting a rounded ass underneath, tits poking up behind their little fabric restrains. For as long as he had looked grown-up, Michael was used to being drooled over and desired, he had despised them all and seen their advances as disgusting. But, fuck, did she bring the touch-starved man inside him to wake. 

 

     “Fucking grind your face on me, Mallie, leave me fucking dripping” he commanded her, tugging her down and pressing his nose and mouth harder to her in addition to it. She started purring and whining, his strong hands grasping hard at each side of her hips moving her in wavy motions against him until she caught the hint and started rocking herself. Pleasuring herself on his tongue, practically using him, he loved to see her so wet and flustered. His cock pulsed hard and regained stiffness the second he wrapped his lips around the sensitive hood of her clit and suckled softly, releasing her and taking her in to suck much harder as soon as she whined, begging for it.

 

    “Oh, M-Michael, please-e” no need to tell him twice.

 

    The demon brought his arm from under him and slide two fingers into her slowly, feeling her walls throb and clench around him. Tight and soaked, she was, he was certain it would be quite the task to fit all his length inside her, it excited him to think of her pretty face contracting in pleasure and pain as he slid himself in, granting her with a couple seconds of grace before starting to ravish her violently.

 

    Oh, how foolish he was. But he was unaware of it, far too happy with the literal pleasure of her company. Michael was often dazzled by the scent of her blood, the purity of her aura, she was wrapped in peachy sunlight no matter the day, no matter the time. His Mallie was just so pure, so good, so obedient. But he knew, he could feel it, that to be used by her would be just as delicious. 

 

    “What do you want me to do?” he cooed, Mallory dearest could only moan and squirm above him. Michael quickened his motions and kissed her bundle of nerves eagerly “Want me to go faster? Like this?” this time she brought herself back from the haze, though she struggled to answer.

 

    Then he curled his fingers inside of her, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she cried in desperate pants, arching her back until she was nearly sitting, he groaned against her when she pulled from his hair to bring him closer “So you like that? Huh? Look at me” he ordered her softly. Patting her cheek a couple times when she didn’t open her eyes. And when she did, needy and startled, the amber of them were panned over by tears, the sensation being almost too much for her to handle. She was bound to be close, judging by her rough the swaying of her hips was getting. “I want you to cum for me…”

 

    “I’m so close, Michael…” his name she moaned, broken, strangled. Almost like an invisible force took over her and tore her apart from the inside. Michael, on his end, started pumping in and out of her faster filling the room with the wet sounds of his fingers coming in and out her dripping cunt. Some of her juices were trickling down his fingers and down onto his palm, some were dropping in droplets onto the velveteen couch.  _ Good _ , he thought, let them all know they tarnished the room with some unholy.

 

    His nose, his lips, his chin. For fuck’s sake, even his lashes, were covered in her. That kitten was definitely a messy one, he came to find. When he felt her clenching and unclenching faster around him he knew she was over with, suddenly giving signs of being just about to cum. She was going to do it, and she was going to be loud. So Michael brought his hand up and covered her mouth with it, just as she coiled closer and burst on him, moaning what he could guess was the ghost of his name. Her legs were shaking, the skin of her inner thighs was impossibly hot and he could not resist the temptation to uncover her mouth and let her moans escape her mouth. Regardless of how she was already climaxing, she was still uttering purr-like sounds, coming from from her high, loosing up the grip of her hands on his now messy hair. 

 

    Michael came up slowly, like a hunter would approach its prey, and fell right into her arms to marvel on her naked skin, hands all over, both of their tastes mingling in a sinister osculation as they mixed lips and teeth, tongues and tugs. It mattered little if someone had gotten to hear.

 

    And much to their sorrow, someone did. 

  
  


    Cordelia eyed Michael curiously, wondering just why he was suddenly so lost within his thoughts. For as long as she had known him he had always been pretty self-sufficient and confident. And it was not like he was showing any fear in his gaze (she couldn’t tell, really, it was fogged over as though he refused to show anyone what he was thinking of, how he was feeling) but he was certainly distracted. The young man had completely ignored the last five minutes of conversation. 

 

    Behold and John were arguing, but it was nothing new, at least their discussions were much more amicable than the ones he had with Ariel; those two really hated their guts, it puzzled her to think how men could possibly work together in such state. With so many hormones in between. Man, she thought, scoffing. The mental picture of their quarrels reminded her of one of her witches, one of her daughters, one haughty and problematic that was guiding her little bird through a garden full of thorns.

 

    It was her initial intention to bring Michael’s attention back to their dimension of residence, all the same she thought of how stressful this situation had to be for him (however unreliable he was, it was impossible for her not to care) and how he was probably just processing what he had learned. What  _ she  _ had taught him.

 

    Instead, Cordelia felt herself in the need of manifesting herself in that rickety old barn her own girls were practicing at, in that heat, all alone, trusting her completely. She fear for Mallory, her dearest, with her big hazel eyes and her pouty lips just wondering where she was; looking around as who’s lost her mom in the crowd. It pained her to know she was putting her in such a precarious situation, and that she had little to no knowledge of what was expecting her on the other side. The least she could do was giving a list of the tasks to the practiced to Zoe and Madison, hoping they could hold the fort a little longer before Cordelia herself got to guide her, which she fully intended to. She just needed to distract them, just a little more, all they needed was a little more time. Still the prick of a needle, the harsh flash of pain of really struck her; reminding her they didn’t have as much time as planned. 

 

    What followed suit would only convince her further.

 

    “So, Cordelia,” said Ariel, high-flown and confident “Where exactly are our girls?” it took all in her not to scrunch her face at the term of possession he used; coming from him it was almost blasphemous “I haven’t seen our little Mallory around lately!”

 

    From the corner of her eye, though, she could see Michael coming back to them at the mention of her name. This didn’t feel right to her, it didn’t feel right at all. 

 

    “Mallory, as well as the rest of my elders, is giving us the space to practice Michael’s tasks before the test itself comes” she explained, and easy smile toying with her coral-colored lips “All of them are doing their own studies elsewhere,” her gaze darted at Michael for half a second “so they don’t distract your boy.”

 

    Michael would have lied if he had said it didn’t cause jealousy to shoot through him when he heard her referring to Mallory and the others as ‘hers’ and Michael, the lone one, as ‘his’. 

 

    “Please, you don’t need to scare them all away because of me” he excused, his voice was pleading but there was no humility in it; it was rather a mocking little comment of his, as who eases a child from getting scared over the smallest of sounds “It’s  _ your _ Academy, anyway.” 

 

_  “For now.”  _ said Ariel, fidgeting his fingers. 

 

   Cordelia was far from intimidating over this small mutiny that was taking place all around her, Behold and John were unaffected by it, anyway. They were the only tolerable company amongst the warlocks; Michael, Baldwin and Ariel, especially Ariel, could be utmost unbearable. 

 

    “Why the interest in Mallory, out of the sudden?” she inquired, changing the subject.

 

    Ariel shrugged, “She just seems to be so close to you, Cordelia. It’s hard not to notice her.”

 

    Hadn’t he spoken, the Supreme witch would have never even noticed his presence in the room. But Baldwin fixed his glasses atop the bridge of his nose with one finger without looking up from his book, limiting himself to give out a comment in the subject matter, now it was timely.

 

    “That’s true” he agreed, “I’ve seen her teaching the younger witches and she seems to be pretty talented. Her Transmutation and History of Magic classes are advancing fast, as well. I’ve noticed she’s developed her powers remarkably for someone who’s been at the Academy how long? A year, year and a half?”

 

    “Two years.” she corrected, wishing to excuse herself from the room soon enough, she was needing to know of her desperately. But, of course, it didn’t show “She came from Massachusetts right after discovering her powers, her mother found her floating over her bed while she was sleeping and thought she was some Devil worshipper.” 

 

    Michael’s gaze shot right into Cordelia, one so strong it stung her with curiosity just how it made her turn around almost as he had grabbed her chin and turned her head, himself. “Devil worshipper?”

 

    The woman laughed, “Yes, absurd. Her family was considerably narrow-minded for someone who descends directly from…”

 

    “...one of the few surviving witches from the Salem Trials.” he finished for her, nodding off. 

 

    Both Ariel and Cordelia exchanged a little look, as though they were about to ask each other something. In that moment Behold puckered up his lips and sipped his tea trying to keep himself from muttering something, Cordelia folded her hands over her stomach and tilted her head in curiosity; although deep down, he could feel her anger bubbling inside her. He had slipped.

 

    “So you’ve talked to Mallory about this, I assume.”

 

    “Briefly.” he assured her, knowing it would be no good to let them suspect of them being closer than convenient “The very night I arrived, we talked it over dinner. She was very kind to stay with me while I finished my dessert but… I’m afraid that’s all I’ve gotten to know. For the rest I snuck into one of her classes…”

 

    Ariel Augustus and Cordelia Goode, they both had the same fucking look on their faces. Except the man’s had imperceptly shifted into a self-sufficient grimace, while Cordelia resembled the caring mother seeing her daughter’s biker boyfriend dropping her off a couple hours past her curfew. Enchanting, sure, elegant and proper; but beaming with anger. As though she despised the mere idea of Michael addressing her little angel.

 

    How would she feel if she knew a couple nights ago he had taken in the pleasure in making her cum loudly on that very same couch she sat on, while praising his work? Now this was hilarious. But he had to control himself, if he didn’t want to get Mallory (who he missed enough, already) into any trouble.

 

    “...It’s a brilliant witch, Miss Cordelia.” he told her innocently, hands folded behind his back “You must be so proud.” 

 

    The air was yet to tense, since most of them were so unaware of what was really going on. Thankfully.

 

   Cordelia approached him with a couple of steps and smiled kindly at him once again “Thank you for being so receptive Michael, you’re learning so much” she praised, turning her head to the rest of the warlocks “I figure you must all be tired, so I will retreat and go fetch the girls from the swamp” what on Earth was the swamp, none of the men had the slightest clue “Leave you to rest.”

 

    Michael gave her a curtsy nod, ever so polite, the woman limited herself to smile again.

 

   “Trust me, you’ve earned it.” with this, she was gone. The soft clicking of her heels and the rather harsh thuds of Myrtle’s were the only sound to keep their exit company.

    “Well, you all heard her” groaned John struggling to get up from his seat. Perhaps all that eyeliner had given him the sensation that he would stay forever young, but his sudden difficulty to get up from the couch (which caused Behold to snicker, by the way) showed him otherwise “Let’s go grab a bite, Bourbon Street. Check’s on me.” 

 

    Ariel and Behold rush past Michael, calling for him “Aren’t you coming?” 

 

    The young so-called warlock slowed his own movements, “Sure, I will catch up with you at the entrance” he promised with a small smile, tasting bile on his tongue, hoping that was enough for them to leave them alone.

 

    And they did, much too hungry and annoyed to argue with him or so rush him. This gave him time to take out his phone, and type out a message for what seemed to feel like the hundredth time that day.

  
  
  


    Mallory sighed, “I’m exhausted.”

 

    Not far behind her was Madison struggling in her high heels to walk through the weeds and grass.

 

    “Tell me, I was sitting on that stack of hay for so long I can’t feel my ass.” she snarled.

 

    All they could do was laugh. The sky above them was turning a colder shade of blue, the dim twilight engulfing them entirely as they approached their car by the side of the barn, Mallory was fearing that in spite of the dropping temperature (well, mosquitoes included) the car would still be hellish warm. It would be a miracle if her phone hadn’t melted yet.

 

     “Mallory, you did so well” said Zoe motherly, each day mirroring Cordelia the more. And that was a compliment, it absolutely was “You must be so tired, I’m sure. You deserve some well-earned rest.”

 

    She smiled shyly at her, rubbing the naked skin of her arm “Yes, I just wanna be home already.”

 

    Madison flung the driver seat door open and climbed on arguing over her driving with Zoe a bit. They all knew Madison was a terrible driver, but at least they’d be home soon enough and Mallory would flop onto her bed to fall asleep in thirty seconds time. Mallory climbed to the back, and rolled her window down to welcome the sweet Louisiana breeze.

 

    Having gotten back her phone, with the sole intention of calling Cordelia. There was only one message from Michael, much to her surprise. Mallory opened it, coiling into the seat hoping the others wouldn’t ask her what she was doing.

 

    “Hey, dollface.” it read, it was from ten minutes ago.

 

    She typed her reply, mildly relieved “Hi, baby!”

 

    All that filled her ears was Zoe and Madison’s bickering over something silly, some old joke she couldn’t get ahold of. Mallory was anxious before, at least he had eased her nerves, he didn’t sound angry at all. But why would he? There was nothing he could possibly hold against her, all the students were out the house, anyway. 

 

    Twenty, twenty-five minutes passed before his reply came in. Mallory read it flashing on her notification bar, and immediately,  _ immediately _ she felt her heart sink at the very bottom of her stomach.

  
_   “How’s my little supreme doing?”  _


	7. Tales of the Jazz Age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again, I cannot believe I did it. But I did it. In less than three days I was able to give you guys the next chapter, this one was drilling my sorry head and I beg you to bear with me if the last bit is completely all over. I didn't sleep at all writing and I was starting to nooze sitting in front of my computer, fun stuff, all typos and grammar errors can be credited to my sleep depravation. Anyway, here it is, I thoroughly enjoyed writing more from Michael's perspective, although I will be honest and say I was intimidated to no end, he is so layered and complex I didn't mean to butcher him.
> 
> That being said, it was amazing to FINALLY set the plot into motion. You guys asked for it, I complied. This, officially, is where The Unlucky begins. Hope you guys like it.

    Many moons ago, in a made up world, the street in front of him was the home to a legend. A story of a man born old, one foot on the ground; one foot on the grave, neglected and abandoned by his own, left to his own devices until a woman saved him out of the kindness of her yearning heart. Michael’s gaze had drifted, lost in the vibrant signs of the numerous restaurants and bars of New Orleans’ very own Bourbon Street, trying to get a grasp on anything tangible in the whirlwind that his mind had come to be.

 

     _Pathetic,_ he told himself, he was no Benjamin Button. But he sure was something else. For once he had allowed himself to feel in a certain way and for the hundredth time it had turned out to be a hideous mistake. It was looking right at him as though it was a person, one with crooked teeth and spotty skin, dressed in rags. It was holding a sign, laughing at him with a toothless (in a literal sense) grin. At times he wondered if this waxy faced being was as much of a part of his soul as the demon face was. Saying ‘I told you so’.

 

     _Oh, Mallie._ Why have you wronged him so? Why putting him in such a troublesome situation? If his suspicions were true, and they were, everything he ever thought he knew of her was a lie.

 

    Behold Chablis and John Henry Moore where heatedly conversing with each other while they loudly wined and dined at a small yet opulent restaurant at the very hard of the southern hot spot. Their table was placed on a balcony, lit up with reminiscent lanterns and railings coiled in deep-green ivy. A sight to sigh for, perhaps, at least judging by the bewildered faces of the flustered-skinned tourists ordering one drinking after another, no matter how overpriced. Michael was sure his face had sunken into his skull, looking drained and crestfallen out of the blue, because it was John Henry himself (who hated his guts) who offered him a drink despite of not being of age.

 

    “You want a drink, Michael?” he asked sawing at his steak with a mildly bloody knife.

 

    Michael had barely touched his jambalaya, and was absently pushing bits across the plate.

 

    He nodded his head, the older warlock stopped eating and called a waiter over to ask for their drinks. At times it was bothersome to have such an unclear idea what his age was, but he pushed the thought away and thanked him mentally for asking him before their waiter made his way over; last thing he wanted was getting carded right now.

 

    “Whatcha wanna drink, then?” his voice was brassy, nonetheless, it had softened in comparison.

 

    He shrugged his shoulders apathetically “This is Bourbon Street,” he announced, the excitement in his voice was rather flat, “Guess I’ll take a bourbon.”

 

    John Henry asked them all for drinks, Ariel himself joining their table with Baldwin shortly after, after having said their goodbyes and slipped out of a futile exchange with some estranged friends of theirs they came across with at the door. Louisiana was smaller than any of them thought, at least when it came to magic. The air around them was stale, and the mood was indifferent. Most of them were far too preoccupied talking trash about the witches and exchanging catty comments on Cordelia’s appearance and decaying health like a handful of scandalmonger nanas to even care for Michael. Ariel Augustus, however, kept a lingering eye on him and had a look on his face the blond man could hardly decipher. Nothing new, there.

 

    “Lighten up, Michael!” Behold urged him, chewing at what seemed to be a ravioli “You busted your ass today at Robichaux, you deserve a break!”

 

    Baldwin leaned over the table and eyed him curiously over his glasses like he was some sort of nearly-extinct creature kept safely, yet a prisoner, at a _sanctuary_. The word lingered on his mind. The presence alone of the aforementioned man constantly caused Michael to gag, that spineless rat.

 

    “Who died on you, kid?” was his snotty question, “You look like you’ve lost a million too many.”

 

    “I’m just tired.” he said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to grab his bowl of jambalaya and throw it right at his stupid-looking face. See how he liked that, now. “You said it, gentlemen, busted my ass, maybe I just want to rest…”

 

    Their waiter came with a shimmery plate holding all their drinks, Michael ignored completely with his face fixed at nothing how the waiter cocked an eyebrow counting five drinks for four adults with a young man sitting there with his water, suspiciously intact. As soon as he went away, Michael reached for the amber liquid in his glass and downed it all one sitting, earning astonished looks from all the warlocks alike.

 

    It burned, but maybe that was what he wanted. Maybe that’s what he was used to.

 

    “Easy there, boy.” Behold warned him with his beady eyes wide and judgy, lips puckered up.

 

    The glass fell on the table with a little thud, his long fingers toying with the rim hating how the circular motions suddenly reminded him of his dearest, running her tiny little fingertips over the back of his hand while she read to him some flimsy little story about some Tristan and Isolde couple. That much he could recall, the rest was white sound disguised as the saccharine sound of her deepened voice, laying him down into the blackened waters of his mind, pulling him right out with a little kiss asking if he heard her.

 

    Ariel narrowed his eyes at him, knowing perfectly fine what he was feeling, and why.

 

    The rest of the dinner was loud, and tedious. Louisiana was a beautiful state, no doubt, so sweet in air and so mystic in nature in comparison to his native California. Michael hadn’t known more than Los Angeles, more than the melting sun and the hiking palm trees that reached so high one lost itself just looking up at them. One more inconvenience of who he was, of his nature and the chaos he was supposed to represent, was how little he actually knew. Rest assured he knew of love and he knew of pain, he knew of numbers and he knew of words; but in terms of time and space, how much did he actually know? In age he was a child, in body he was a man, in mind he was a monster, and in soul he was a ghost.

 

     Truthfully, at times, Michael was nothing but an inexplicable phenomenon, closer to a myth than a legend.

 

    The lights had gone gaunt and the people prancing down the boulevard started dissipating. The warlocks, most of them, had made separate ways leaving with alone with Ariel; quite honestly Michael thought he wanted the privacy to speak of his Miss Mead, send him another encrypted message the older would feel as a private joke and Michael would know better, as his father’s will manifesting through his foster mother. He should have known better, really.

 

    “My boy…” Ariel collapsed in front of Michael sitting on a private booth he had gotten themselves.

 

    There, no onlookers or passersby could possibly eavesdrop their conversation, he had stressed just how important it was for him to get Michael alone, discuss important matters. As soon as John shoot a funny look his way, Michael’s senses started tingling underneath his skin like a warning, the sign of an impending threat.

 

    By the time Ariel had come to his encounter, Michael had turned off the screen of his phone letting the apparatus utter a faint clicking sound, seeing he had no messages from Mallory. Not a single reply, a single excuse, in fact she hadn’t even bothered to open the message. But he knew she had read it, he could feel it.

 

    Why else would she reply so quickly and then go completely, entirely quiet?

 

    “You said you wanted a word, a few, actually” he corrected himself, fidgeting lazily “What do I owe the pleasure, Great Chancellor? Is this related to my tests? Because I’ve been training, I can assure you.”

 

    Michael’s voice was surprisingly calmed, perhaps because the man before didn’t post as much of a threat as the coven, or even some of his brother warlocks. His, not Michael’s, Michael had long since lost the hopes of referring to anyone as family. These louses were no exception. Deep inside of him a cancerous little shadow crept behind his heartstrings, ready to leap. Ready to get rid of what was unnecessary.

 

    He just needed a little time.

    Ariel didn’t seem to be in the mood to beat it around the bush, “Michael, I think you know exactly what I would like to discuss,” his look was slightly chastising, Michael was far from bothered “there is something going and you know as well as me what I’m talking about.”

 

    “Humor me.” he challenged, leaning over the table a couple of inches, lacing his fingers before him.

 

    The older man tilted his head and sighed heavily, the gesture itself was uncomplicated, it was almost as though he mixed the roles of the patronizing figure of authority and the laid-back, wannabe fatherly figure. The blond kept himself from curving his lips in a sly grimace, it was hard, though. So pathetic to see him _try._

 

    “A few weeks ago I unwillingly became part of an indiscretion, a greatly jeopardizing indiscretion, that is.” he recalled, adopting an equally formal posture, “I was able to see you, and Miss Mallory, engaging in what was a pretty obvious display of affection. One that, as you can imagine, Michael, I received with much disapproval.”

 

    That ever so statuesque countenance of his showed no signs of regret or distress, Michael was as still as it could get. It was hard to even pattern his breathing just by looking at him, he was motionless and full of expectation whereas Ariel spoke. It bothered him, notwithstanding, to think of anyone else but him seeing Mallory in that state of bliss; holding onto his frame. Perhaps it was sickening to find comfort in the thought of having made clear who she belonged to, the second he was able to envision Ariel Augustus right around the corner witnessing their act of pure, unaffected love, his teeth set on edge by knowing nobody would ever bear with him or so give him what Mallory gave to Michael given to his superiority complex and overall pestilent personality.

 

    Only those who found that rare feeling were ought to be consider the lucky ones. The real winners, despite their failures. The wise ones, no matter how dreadful their acts of foolishness were.

 

    “When we made the agreement to settle here in New Orleans for your tests, we did it with the sole aspiration to assure your rising as the Alpha after having successfully completed them all,” the chancellor continued, vexed behind layers of fake politeness “not to get distracted this way, Michael. This act of impulsiveness could cost you greatly.”

 

    Michael’s eyes were afire, it was nearly unnerving to see the statue come back to life and regain some humanity about him, some real motion. He blinked rapidly, twice, and took a breath before talking “I’ve aced every class Cordelia Goode has instructed, and I’ve aced them with no help from anyone. As I aced your own tests, and as I will ace the Test of the Seven Wonders.” he nearly hissed, raising his eyebrows in doubtfulness “I don’t know what you’re so worried about, or what is it supposed to be so important that I don’t mingle with my own kind.”

 

    “Those witches are not our _kind,_ Michael” Ariel specified, granting each word with an staccato provided by his daring intonation and the pauses between each one of them, “All we have spoken about from the very moment I met you is how the _witches_ are _below us_. How we need to escort them back to their rightful place.”

 

    “In which reality is yanking women born and formed in magic from their well-settled, well-deserved spots about as polite as ‘escorting them back’, Great Chancellor? The more I look at it, the more this power play seems to be drive not by logic and rationality but envy and resent.”

    At this point Michael’s brow was knitted in confusion, his shoulders shrugged and eyes fixed on the short man in front of him, who was close to start fuming. This, no doubt, was an act of insolence; but Ariel knew better, he knew Michael was much more powerful than he would ever be, and being on his good side equalled not only power but survival.

 

    “Oh, Michael,” he exclaimed, “Please don’t tell me these witches brainwashed you, please don’t tell me all my fears are true and valid, that my recurring nightmares have become a reality.”

 

    He scoffed, uncorking the bottle of wine Ariel had brought earlier to the booth and pouring himself a glass without asking for permission or being kind enough to pour one for his mentor, as well.

 

    “Come on, don’t be fucking dramatic.” he urged, annoyed.

 

   “Michael I need to know the nature of these little exchanges of yours, because I am more than positive that you have been sneaking around and about with this Mallory girl on every chance you’ve been given” that he had, actually “Whether you try to hide it or not, it has become more obvious with each passing day. I’m not stupid, Michael, I know there must be a really good reason why Cordelia would react the way she did today when you proved to know a little too much about her favorite’s personal life.”

 

    “You’re asking me if she’s my girlfriend, then?” Michael asserted taking a sip of his pinot noir.

 

    The man’s pupils blew wide, full of expectation “That I am,” he paused, “Is she?” Ariel insisted.

 

    Michael looked right in his eyes, curling his lips upwards, slyly. Obedience had never been his forte, the man should have known better. As he should have known their little alliance didn’t include any sort of ownership over Michael’s actions. This was, all around, just business. And Ariel was taking it a little much at heart.

 

     _“Yes.”_ he smiled.

 

     He had expected Ariel to act on the clear act of disrespect, to react differently. But he was somewhat blindsided. Instead the man shook his head a bit, as who cannot believe the news, but can’t do anything to change them; Michael shrunk his nose and looked down at him in discontent as the man clicked his tongue.

 

    “Tsk, tsk, tsk…” he muttered, more to himself, before looking up at Michael again, even showing an eerie smile that Michael could sense as a sign of defeat “You know what, Michael? I can’t… I can’t even blame you, really.”

 

 _This couldn’t be good,_ he said to his heart of hearts. And it couldn’t.

 

    “You’ll see, I comprehend, Michael. I _understand_ you” hardly, but he went off anyway “Here you are, a charming, good looking young man. Whose life had been spent almost entirely in isolation, neglected by his biological family, taken into a loving household well into his life to be taken care of by a caring yet overbearing woman who refuses to treat him as he was more than a sculpture made of _glass._ ”

 

    The man’s mouth stretched funnily with the last word, mockingly, in fact. Michael had to keep himself from reaching out for the corkscrew and stab him in the eye for the way he referred to Miriam, hating profusely how he made her sound like a lesser, dependent woman who needed desperately to cling onto her son to feel complete. To feel useful,  like Constance.

 

    “Now he suddenly finds himself surrounded by young women, beautiful, to top it. And in comes one who suddenly seems to change everything…” he mused, almost dreamily, but Michael knew better and could feel his eyes narrowing slowly “...I saw it, my boy, I saw the second you saw her when she ran up to us made a mess, prancing like the rest of Cordelia’s savages. Pretty, yes, but highly problematic. With her skimpy dresses and her baking and her pretty, shiny eyes. As soon as you two spoke you were as good as snatched.”

 

    “I do believe you’re being condescending, Ariel…” Michael trailed off, calmly. Even if his fists were clenching already, the metal of his rings brushing and pressing on his pale skin. The look on his face was quizzical, drenched in irony and disbelief “You truly believe something as irrelevant and fleeting as a fling with one of her witches would be enough to derail me? Stray from my purpose?”

 

    Ariel’s lips twitched, his glass of wine shone clean and empty in front of him.

 

    “Play pretend all you want, Mr. Langdon” he challenged, traces of mockery in the title he used to refer to him “You can preach all you want, plead not guilty if so you like, but you were the one who put effort and haste into keeping this little romance a secret. As it is _you_ who would not hesitate in smashing this very glass of wine on the table and use the remains to slice my throat if I dared to speak against your precious, little angel.”

 

    His blood was boiling hot, the dark thick veins of the other man squirming under his skin threatening with making an act of appearance. Try as he may, Michael could not deny that it ached him, because he knew how true it was, because he cared for her.

 

    Life had been cruel enough to show him just how easy it was for him care. Ironically. Mallory was no exception, she was the rule, and like the remaining rules she was bound to be another one of his tremendous mistakes. Just one that would have a hint of sweetness in the sour memory, that’s all.

 

    “I know what the witches are up to, Ariel” he announced, as to show himself a little less stupid, a little more aware “I know this little ‘we’re giving you the space to train for your tests’ excuse is nothing but bullshit. There’s great power in her, no such as mine, of course. But Cordelia is dying, and she’s desperate, and she will prefer to succeed her supremacy to someone easy to trust in and easy to control, instead.”

 

    It was Ariel’s turn to make assumptions “You believe Mallory is their potential Supreme.”

 

    “I believe she’s a talented, yet terribly naive little girl Cordelia is using to try to overthrow us.” he declared bitterly, his words only but halves of truths “I believe she’s powerful, like few. But that is easy to expect given to her bloodline, it’s easy for a girl of her background to develop more and develop faster than the rest. But that is all. Cordelia might be convinced that she can be her heiress, but it’s clear that she is nothing but their _sacrificial lamb._ ”

    “When did you first assume this?”

 

    “I started suspecting things when Mallory stopped seeing me as often, she started growing distant and shying away” he told him, this part was entirely true, much to his sorrow “She had given me enough of a valid reason to keep things at bay; the secrecy of our relationship, the importance of my tests. Not once did she ever interrupt me, nor did she try to sabotage me in any way, never tried to get any information from me.”

 

    Ariel looked at his nails for a second, losing interest. Michael could feel his expression had shifted, from disdained and vexed, threatening, to pained, hopelessness, even. “So you think she’s innocent of everything?”

 

    He swallowed hard, unsure of why exactly he was asking him that. But there was no point to lie about it, Michael was upset and he felt betrayed; all at once he felt like Mallory, his sweetest Mallory, couldn’t be anything but Cordelia’s minion. Mallory had expressed her love for Cordelia and her sisters, with the way she obeyed her and the way they were fond and loving towards one another.

 

    Michael could see Cordelia leaning in to read Mallory’s neat handwriting during Grimoire lectures, how she tucked a stray curl back into place when Mallory was distracted talking to Queenie and Madison, how Mallory and Michael’s first encounter had taken place due to her eagerness to see Cordelia again. Smiley and willing, a apple cinnamon shortcake in her hands. He hated himself a bit for it, he hated everyone involved in that situation for not easing his doubts and urges, but at times he even got to wonder if maybe far from the familiar fondness between them they were crushing on one another.

 

    Why else would his Mallory be so willing to risk her life, having her magic so barely awoken?

 

    “I don’t think she’s guilty of anything” he limited himself to say.

 

    The man across the table, that lousy excuse of a chancellor, that little pawn on his chessboard had the audacity to laugh dryly right at his face, shaking his head at him, pursing his lips almost innocently.

 

    “Then I fear there is a great about your sweetheart you don’t know.”

 

    Michael raised an eyebrow, but didn’t show himself to be entirely affected by it. At this point, unfortunately so, whatever brought him answers was enough. No matter how gruesome it could possibly whatever he found.

 

    “A big deal I don’t know, now?” he echoed, his voice fragmenting itself in a ghostly whisper.

 

    With pursed lips and a solemn nod of his head, Ariel Augustus smiled, it clearly didn’t reach his eyes.

 

    “Allow me to enlighten you...”

  


    “I know, I know. I meant to call you sooner.”

 

     _“Mallory, I left you messages, several messages.”_ said the voice from the other side of the line.

 

    Outside the sky had darkened, and the faint illumination from the beaten and dirty headlights helped just enough so they weren’t running amidst the dark, prepared to hit whatever. The phone service had been awful, much to her sorrow; those messages she truly tried to respond, but it was no use, she knew she had failed greatly and she knew she had done something that (clearly so) went against everything she was supposed to stand for. Foolish, she felt foolish and reckless. Still she sighed, and prayed to all gods the voice understood.

 

    “The service where I was, was terrible” she excused herself for the millionth time. Zoe and Madison growing quiet so they could listen to whatever the conversation would hint through Mallory’s responses, maybe they would be lucky enough to hear something from the caller, too, if they happened to be loud enough.

    “I’m sorry” she breathed, shutting her eyes closed, sinking into the backseat “I’m telling you, I _promise_ you I’m okay. We all are, I’ll be home soon enough, we just need to stop to grab a bite and fill the tank.”

 

      Cordelia sighed in relief from the other side of the line.

 

    “You better.” she chastised, pacing back and forth in her room. Her ever present Myrtle had excused herself, exhausted from the days activities, and hungry, herself. Cordelia herself couldn’t eat, she was having a hard time keeping anything in, and in that state of nervousness it was three times more difficult.

 

    Her room was barely lit by her bedside lamp, her frame sitting with a floppy thud onto her bed, her frail hand holding lightly onto the covers. Even doing that granted her even with a light little tug was exhaustive, she let go from the covers soon enough, the words and gestures she had seen earlier were burned on the back of her mind, and it was becoming harder and harder to conceal. But her Mallory was obedient, her Mallory was a good girl. And everything she asked her to do, she did. This would be no exception.

 

    It wouldn’t be, now, would it?

 

    “Call me as soon as you’re all back in New Orleans.” she instructed her, in motherly fashion, “You shouldn’t be that far anymore.”

 

    Mallory chuckled “No, we shouldn’t. Zoe said we were forty minutes away now.”

 

    “Forty-five minutes.” the alluded corrected, raising one tiny cranberry colored fingernail.

 

    “Forty-five, she says.”

 

    There was a sigh from the other side of the line, and Mallory held her breath waiting for a response. It felt as though, even from across the distance, she could feel and see Cordelia just fine. She would have her eyes shut by now thinking of a good response, collecting her thoughts silently as she used to.

 

    “Well, okay.” the older witch concluded “Be safe, I love you. All. I love you all.”

 

    “Likewise,” Mallory smiled, but it was short lived “I’ll call you.”

 

    And with this, she ended the call. Her hand flopping limp onto the seat with her phone slipping. Her sisters asked no questions, for they had gotten their answers through Mallory, already. All she wanted, all that Mallory truly wanted, was a little bit of silence. She was anxious beyond human comprehension, she was exhausted.

 

    She was kind of thankful of the car’s broken radio, last thing she needed was the deafening bass of some upbeat song increasing her already irregular heartbeat, weakening her further. There was a hole at the pit of her stomach, from where all her butterflies were slipping right out. Ice, there was ice on her nose from the cold breeze flowing into her rolled window, ice in her head stopping her from thinking, and ice on her hands making her fingers cold and numb. Anxiety, yes, she got it. Enough, already.

 

   Oh, but how was she supposed to keep her cool now? Michael’s message was still received yet unopened, unanswered. Before quickly nagging her for not answering, Cordelia had rushed to say none of the warlocks was home, which was kind of a relief, but at the same time it made her grow more nervous. Right now all she wanted was to disappear, sadly she couldn’t. The clock was ticking and she wished for those forty-five (now forty-three) minutes to elongate as much as possible. God only knows what was waiting for her in New Orleans.

 

    Mallory thought of her boy wonder, her angel. She couldn’t think of him as anything but kind, anything but sweet. It pained her to think of this ice that lived inside her taking over his eyes and wiping off everything they had collected and worked for in this short amount of time. Mallory sighed, convincing herself not to cry.

 

    “Bunny-Mal, do you wanna stop at a diner to grab a bite, then?” asked Madison, bringing her out her haze momentarily. She had turned to see her, sunken into her seat.

 

   “Yes, thanks. I’d love to eat something.” her own voice sounded so stale and foreign.

 

    Mallory didn’t notice Zoe’s eyes fixed on her paying attention to her every gesture from her rear view mirror.

 

   The last thing she could do was staring out the window, completely ignorant of the storm that was coming. Not only would she have to deal with Michael, she also had to speak to Delia and confess to her what had been happening. It was a formula for disaster and she was bound to her burned by it, feeling just the tiniest bit of comfort by speaking to herself, easing her ailing as much as she possibly could.

 

_Some things were simply made to collapse over their own weight. If this is my doing, I’m willing to take full responsibility for its consequences._

  


        “Allow me to enlighten you...”

 

    Michael was feeling the absurd necessity of grabbing his phone and blowing Mallory’s up until she picked up. He was unsure of what he was supposed to say once she did, maybe he just wanted to listen to her talking, maybe he wanted to unwind and cuss her off, curse her out of his life before anything Ariel told him finished ruining things for both of them; it was pointless to cling onto something that wasn’t working. Mead had told him once, that when something was broken it was better to cut the cord.

 

    Never had he ever dreaded those words until now, maybe he could play act and pretend it wasn’t.

 

    “As you might now, I have been loyal to you and our cause from the very moment I met you” it disgusted him, really, how Ariel was comfortable enough in saying ‘our’, unaware of how irrelevant and insignificant he was in the greater scheme of things, at the end of the day “Michael, I’ve been the one taking chances for you, opening doors, finding opportunities.”

 

    “Opportunities, yes. It was you who brought me here, down to Cordelia’s  doorstep wrapped in chains” He bitterly laughed. Michael raised his cup and spoke as to toast in his name, “For that I thank you.”

 

    Ariel tried to show himself confident, still, “Another step on our way that we will get over with soon,” he assured him, and cleared his throat “What I’m trying to say is I’ve been here from the very beginning and I do not intend in backing out at any point; no matter how difficult things get. Or how much your powers grow.”

 

 _Well, that would make you the first,_ he thought. Pitiful, hilarious.

 

    Michael repeated himself, half an act of politeness. Half an act of mockery.

 

    “And for that I thank you, as well.”

 

    “All I’ve done is looking after you and secure you a safe spot to develop your plans from. Of course, absolutely, I’m getting my benefits here, as well. But my main priority, Michael is and will always be your wellbeing. That is precisely why, upon meeting Mallory, I knew I had to keep a close eye on her; and I’ve done, Michael, that I’ve done” his eyes filled with concern, fake or not, he couldn’t tell. Although it would be a lie to say he wasn’t a little bit aggravated by the direction of their conversation “And what I found on her, on Mallory… It’s not good, Michael…”

 

    That was ridiculous. In all honesty, what could be possibly wrong about Mallory? It was not a fact of feelings or appearances, Michael had gotten to know her well enough to form his own opinion on her. And he could see through people, through their souls, there was not an spec of dust guarded in their sullen minds he couldn’t pluck and set on display right in front of them, to remind them of their shame, their pain, their disgrace.

 

    What did his muse, with her soft hair, her hazel eyes, her sweet words, have to possibly hold against her?

 

   “What is that you’ve found, Augustus?” said he, folding his arm over the table and pouring a second with his own fingers brushing the heel of his hand. Fidgety, alright, but annoyed all the same.

 

   “I’ve got reasons to believe Cordelia has been using her against you all along.”

 

   “Those are serious accusations, Augustus.” he warned, fiery eyed and coerced into a state of nervous and anger that kept on increasing and dissipating, like those changing tides and either sank or sore depending on the moon. Michael titled his head and made a motion in front of him. “And do you have any evidence to back that up?”

 

    Ariel straightened himself and opened his luxurious jacket, exposing a thin folder that came to rest over the table. Had he really investigated Mallory? Since when, when did this start? “Mallory had her reasons to obey Cordelia no matter what, and I’ve officially come to find what is that dirty little secret she’s been battling to hide. The reason why Cordelia is so protective of her, and probably why she’s even her favorite.”

 

    Pointing the folder at him, the Great Chancellor opened it and exposed a picture of a bright-eyed baby with copperish-brown little waves making a halo around her face, alongside several photos of a growing child sitting on the grass, eating a fistful of popcorn, tightly hugging a troubled-looking black cat.

 

    “Mallory Eleanor Howell, born on September 17th, 1999.  Salem, Massachusetts.” he narrated, identifying the smiling baby and toddler as his Mallie, Michael couldn’t help but to bring his face to soften, and brush the glossy photos with his fingers, holding back his need to smile at the innocent image.

 

    “Born of Philip and Evelyn Howell. Philip being an English Literature professor formed in Cambridge, Massachusetts and Evelyn an accountant; Mallory’s magic comes from her father’s side, namely her paternal grandmother with whom she had lived in several occasions, never for a long time.” Ariel explained, Michael felt something sinking inside of him, the second time the unwanted memory of his own grandmother bargaining into his thoughts; Ariel flipped the pages showing papers and photos. The faces but smudges in front of him, as in all of them his main focus was Mallory. Mallory learning, Mallory growing, Mallory becoming who she was right now. It was odd to look back at it and believe that okay little turtle with thin-rimmed glasses and that itchy-looking rainbow jumper would become in what she was today. A goddess, that was, magic had suited her.

 

    “Living in Salem her family never made much of a choice. Her highly religious mother attended church with the rest of the family, Mallory included, every sunday with no exceptions. Her father was a golfer, her maternal grandparents had been preachers and one of her maternal uncles actually became a priest. Mallory herself never misbehaved, she got acceptable grades, was never known for having much friends. Anyone who didn’t know better would have said Mallory was nothing short of angelic.”

 

    “I don’t understand” he muttered, bringing the folder closer to him and reading through the papers, some were actually her grades. She did well in History, and awful in Math. Perhaps that would explain why she’d made him have such a good time around her, but failed to find the right timing, or calculating the consequences of their actions, “All of this you’re telling me is a testimony of Mallory being a model citizen, I still don’t understand why you refer to her as Cordelia’s personal Mata Hari.”

 

    Michael continued to flip, as Ariel spoke.

 

   “Well, about two years and a half, Mallory started having great disagreements with her family. She started behaving differently, started picking fights and getting into trouble. Her powers were awakening and there was no way for her to control them, the only times she did any better was when she stayed with her grandmother, Patricia Howell. Patricia died of a stroke nearly six months ago.”

 

    She had loved, she had lost, apparently. Michael could make a clear outline of what Mallory was under; a bigoted, insensitive mother calling her a satanist for being magical, a quizzical father way too focused on planning lectures to pay attention to hischild and, as in siblings, well, he didn’t quite know.

 

    “Cordelia slid into the story shortly before Mallory moved into The Academy and started controlling her powers, but it sure took time” Ariel himself slid his fingers over the folder and started seeing pictures of every complaint, every police report “Non-accidental fires, public fights, underage drinking” he listed, snickering, “Mallory was getting closer and closer to the edge of an abyss, even still she didn’t reach the limit until later.”

 

    When Michael grabbed the folder from him, he started flipping through pages of police reports, pictures taken by her friends of Mallory sitting on the grass at what was seemingly a stadium with a furry dog held in her hands. Her smile was bright, there was a purple flower in her hair, and she was smiling right at something that made Michael’s heart sink.

 

    Her own reflection.

 

    More photos emerged of the identical faces. From kindergarten holding hands with matching Minnie Mouse backpacks, to their prom pictures. Mallory’s clon was exactly like her, except her hair had been dyed in a warm shade of blonde, shining holding and falling over her frame a good ten inches longer than Mallory’s. For the rest the other girl with her big expressive eyes, her same delicate lips, the same slender fingers, was the perfect image of Mallory. Of course they had their difference, the other seemed to lean more towards the pastels, the fluffy and the tendry sugary sweet. A Barbie, if you will, although Michael was far too shocked to utter a sound.

 

    “Felicity Howell, Mallory’s identical twin. Born five minutes before her.” Ariel explained, taking a long hard look at Michael’s perplexed face. The aforementioned continued to look at Felicity, tracing her hair with his eyes, seeing all the similarities and differences between them in pictures, imagining what they looked like, in person, if they were still slightly difference. Felicity looked the same, she smiled the face and had the same tiny wrinkles in the corners of her eyes when she laughed.  “Straight A student, pretty particitive in her Church, an aspiring nurse. The people of Salem used pretty sweet words to describe her by.”

 

    Yet Ariel’s voice died down, and as much as Michael was hungry for more information on Mallory’s most likely estranged twin sister, Ariel gave him nothing. Michael immediately thought of himself, and the baby boy he heard crying near the basement a while ago, the one the spirits had revealed to him to be his stillborn twin brother, Jeffrey, the one he consumed almost entirely while they were still in the womb.

 

    The first soul he ever took. He was lost for words, quite frankly. Michael was still confused, nothing Ariel had said painted Mallory in a bad light.

 

    “Where… When…?” he started, but Ariel cut him off. “Is she a witch too, is she in New Orleans as well?”

 

    Then the older man went extremely quiet and turned to look at his hands, shaking his head before he finally spoke nearly a minute later “Michael I’m afraid it’s not possible for you to eve meet, not even contact her.” he confessed to him.

 

    “Why is that?” he questioned.

 

    Ariel made a pause that felt eternal, _“Because she killed her, Michael.”_


	8. When The Air Gets Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, yes this took forever. And yes this chapter is maybe crap in a pot. Also, yes, this might have tons of spelling and grammar errors but in my defense I followed the impulse of writing again after ages and I also have my mom waiting outside to do our annual Valentine's tradition of watching The Lake House. So I will go watch that, while I leave this here for you all! I wanted you to see sort of what Mallory and Felicity's relationship was like, and maybe hint WHY I chose to give Mallory an identical twin sister. Mwah!. Happy Valentine's.

    “What do you envy?” she asked the reflection.

 

    And the reflection replied, “I envy animals”

 

    _What an odd thing to envy, really,_ Mallory told herself. She was furrowing, she couldn’t feel much under the ruthless February breeze, but she knew she was; lying on her stomach at the very same football field Felicity’s boyfriend had allowed them to sneak into several times in the past. Mallory thought of him, of Xavier, and how much she actually liked the guy, with his shiny greenish-hazel eyes and curly hair. His voice was soft and lively, his eyes were warm. Everything about him felt like it was bubbling, like he was wrapped in magic of some sort, he was one of the lucky mortals who lived and seized each and everything single one of his days.

 

    Xavier had stuffed the entire Howell family into his front pocket, promised to keep them close to his heart. It was enchanting, he was enchanting, really. Mallory was no exception, she got swept off her feet in the fact, being able to be somewhere so big and so green when it was somewhat forbidden only made her like him more.

 

    Too bad Xavier had moved to Washington, DC a couple weeks prior and now lived somewhere in Georgetown with his father basking in the feeling of being white, male, and powerful. He aspired to be President, something that often made both Felicity and her chuckle, this had been simply another sacrifice.

 

    “Because everything they do is part of a plan,” she explained “like birds nestling their eggs before they even know what they are, or flying far and away before the weather freezes them to death. They simply act by instinct, you know? And it almost _always_ goes their way.”

 

    At age sixteen, ambitious and equally nervous, Mallory knew the feeling all too well. Both twins were on their senior year of highschool, enjoying their last months of youthful freedom before their proclivity of being called gifted for being so advanced intellectually came to bite them in the ass and they had to face the world on their own. They had plans, too, sadly far from Felicity’s beloved Xavier.

 

    “I wish I could just fly myself anywhere I liked, whenever I liked.”

    Precisely that made Mallory feel sad about her sister’s comment. Her words were drenched in longing, nostalgia, for the first time in her life she was seeing her sister feeling sad. She was often beaming with happiness, now her big eyes sunk tired and dull, reddened from being on her phone all night long looking at the pictures she took with her boyfriend and reading those old messages she never brought herself to delete, those were now her holy grail.

 

    “I know you miss him.” the youngest twin said after a couple moments of silence.

 

    Felicity winced in reply, if there was something she had come to learn about her sister was she hated (profusely) to become a victim of pity. Be it from herself or from others. She waved off sweet comforting comments and often yanked herself away from hugs. It was such a task to love her, but one she gladly took on.

 

    Ever the innocent, unknowing one, Mallory expected her to say it was for his own growth. That it was for the best. However, it was Felicity Howell they talked about, she should have known better.

 

    “He should have said no, to his father. He should have told him no when he offered him to move in after what his mom did to him, he should have stayed with me.” She muttered, with bitter tears staining her pale cheeks with streaks of expensive mascara.

 

    Once again, it was ridiculous. Mallory had to fight herself from visibly shaking her head, God only knew what Felicity’s reaction would have been to Mallory’s unaffected and unbiased observations; better dodge the bullet.

 

    Their positions were funny, also, whilst the shorter-haired lied on her stomach Felicity lied on her back, luscious blonde locks sprawled across like a gilded bedspread. Felicity’s feet pointed in the same direction Mallory’s head did, so the latter had to look over her shoulder to catch the tiniest glimpse of her sister’s face.

 

    “It was for the best” Mallory asserted with an exhalation at last, “You know how bad he wanted to move to Washington, Lizzie…”

 

    Lizzie, as in Fe _licit_ y, she had always loved the nickname. The alluded turned to look at her once again, sporting that same angelic glow about her in spite of how unflattering the angle actually was. Her gaze was dimmed, even her skin showed a peculiar lack of color. It worried her, greatly, to think her sister had been legitimately been drained from her life force by Xavier’s absence. Rest assured, they guy was quite the catch, but not a chance worthy of causing such distress in her sister. It ached her to think so, yet again, Mallory knew little (if anything) of love.

 

    Xavier and Felicity had always appeared to be so certain about their relationship, so steadfast. Mallory had seen their eyes glued to one another that summer afternoon at that alcohol-ridden house party when they met, she had seen how Felicity was by his side when he broke his leg, how Xavier dried her tears when their grandfather died, how both of them held hands under the table at family auctions; how Felicity came home one time in the middle of the night, flushed and beaming, telling her sister just about how much they had just done.

 

   All whilst Mallory stood in the shadows, keeping most to herself, and the rest to nobody. As she looked over the field, saturated in green and grey hues with the morning approaching without a sign of delay, she could just think about how dreadful all those things were. So unlike her, but ever so common whenever her twin was around.

 

    It appeared to be the charmed existence of her remained unwavering and unaffected. Mallory couldn’t help but glancing down at her pale, cold hands hoping her countenance showed no signs of bitterness.

 

    “Lo…” Felicity called her, prompting her to bring the static the played inside her head in a loop to stop.

 

    “Lizzie…”

  


* * *

 

 

    “Zoe?”

 

    The older witch had her face scrunched in discontent, flicking her gaze from the gasoline level indicator and her rearview mirror. After a drive that was taking longer than necessary, it appeared to be the inexperience and anxious-ridden voyage the three young women had engaged in was finally coming back to bite them all in the ass. About ten miles ago Madison had insisted they stopped for gas, something impossible for them to do before as the highway stretched itself empty and lifeless, making them realize they were still a little bit too far from New Orleans, to far for them to ditch the car and walk home, that was.

 

    “Tsk, shit!” Zoe exclaimed, her once gentle hands slamming the steering wheel lightly “Shit!”

 

    “Woah, woah. What is it?” said Mallory coming out of the daydream.

 

    With a tiresome sigh and her very last efforts used to pull the car over to the side of the road, she turned off the engine “That’s it, guys, we have no gas”

 

    It appeared to be Madison wanted to kill somebody, she wanted to kill somebody over the prospect of having to walk home in high heels from where they were. Anyone else would have asked why they didn’t simply transported themselves back to The Academy, if getting there was the problem. The problem was none of them was strong enough to travel so many miles by thought alone (that was a gift Mallory was yet to even exercise, to begin with). The answer was simple: New Orleans was a city reeked in magic, one wrong step and they could end up weaved in the web of a voodoo spell, they could step over the boundaries of other witches, demonic entities, accidentally reappear at the threshold of a dimensional wormhole (as one of their fellow witches had, in the seventies, she was never heard from again) or as simple as they couldn’t leave the bewitched car in the middle of the road.  By the cost of it, it might as well have been a Maserati.

 

    “Fuck…” Mallory whispered through gritted teeth, “...well, is there any gas station around?”

 

    Zoe nodded, “Ten minutes away on foot, we could walk there.”

    “And leaving the Weasley Car here? Not a fucking chance.” Madison interrupted.

 

    Mallory was all too aware of the phone by her side, the notification still adorning the top of her screen as a violent reminder of just how much she was in trouble. Without noticing, herself, Mallory bit her inner cheek and prayed for the others to leave her in charge of the car.

 

    A few moments later, they heard her silent pleas “Mallory?”

 

    “Yes?” she rushed to answer.

 

    “Could you take care of the car while Mads and I go get some gasoline?”

 

     _Does that mean I’ll be able to grab my phone and spare some time? Absofuckinglutely._

 

    “Um, sure. I’ll stay here.”  her voice was easy, it displayed little to no nervousness, but there was something brewing on the pit of her stomach, an omen of some sort. Mallory attempted to swallow it down like a mouthful of cold water but it didn’t seem to ease itself down. It must have been her feeling anxious, it must have been her being silly. But she knew better, knew better indeed, whatever was coming was not any good.

 

    Both of her friends grabbed their purses and slammed the doors shut muttering their apologies, slowly yet surely becoming figures of the night, shadows mingling with the headlights and lamp posts, Mallory felt herself becoming each time smaller, and the air around her got colder in spite of being trapped inside a little moveable coffee pot she had dreaded earlier in the day. By the time Zoe’s hair became nothing but a long wisp of silk under the light above her, Mallory had to fight the urge of crying out for them to wait for her. She truly did.

 

    After all, they were leaving her alone.

 

    With much concern she opened Michael’s message, she stared at his words trying to decode the intentions behind them. Even if she couldn’t listen to the rich ring of his voice she could hint his words were drenched in irony, pettiness, even. How on Earth did he find out she was being trained to become the Supreme? Well, that was reach, deep in her heart of hearts she wondered just how he had fallen into those conclusions.

 

    At times, she could feel something coming from within him. It was sizzling underneath his soft lips when they kissed, boiling underneath the soft skin of his fingertips when he touched her. It went beyond all romantic chemistry they shared, it was otherworldly, it was puzzling. Mallory wished she could tell just what it was, but all of her efforts to decipher just what he was hiding were futile. It brought her to pout, at times, tonight she simply dreaded it.

 

     _“We need to talk.”_ was all she sent, without giving it much of a ceremony.

 

    She didn’t want to sound guilty, she didn’t want to seem desperate.

 

    Maybe two or three minutes had passed, and that anxious sensation taking over her was almost unbearable, it was becoming physical pain. This strange yearning mixed with panic. this feeling of not being comfortable no matter what position she adopted or what she even tried to do. Mallory began to looking out of the windows, these had fogged over out of sudden. That’s when panic won her over.

 

    Mallory looked down at her phone again, her message had been read. But he had sent no reply. She ignored the cold gust of wind when she sent a second one, reading out loud as she typed it.

 

    “Tsk, Michael.” she groaned. _“Michael, we need to talk.”_

 

    She was swept back in when the sound of knuckles on her window startled her. It was impossible to hold it back, Mallory jumped back and slumped onto the backseat when she screamed, a sharp noise coming through her lips barely even covered as it died down my her hands, a pathetic attempt to muffle the sound.

 

    And there he was, standing at nearly six feet, dress all in black as usual with a look in his eyes she couldn’t break down to a single feeling. The sharpness of his teeth visible under the dim illumination of the highway, he was haloed by a blueish light that covered it all, even her own trembling shadow. Both of his arms were folded against the window (which rolled itself down at the action), he was smiling. Smiling, but not out of happiness.

 

    “That what do, baby.” he purred, _“That we do.”_

 

    The stammering of her heart was audible for both of them. Mallory… was terrified.

 

* * *

 

  
  


         It wasn’t often that Felicity took interest in other people’s lives, at times her own life resembled a work of fiction so much it seemed whimsical and improbable for her to ever turn around to look at others. Everything she ever did had a touch of strange about it. At times it felt like she was mantled by some blessed light bliss, her fortune was unlike most people’s, unlike her sister’s. Mallory stared at her silently.

 

    She stared at her, her long golden hair, her eyes at tad darker than her own. Her porcelain skin that had never had a blemish on it, her hot pink nails that never frayed, and the clothes that always fit like a glove. Her better self, now haunted by a certain sadness she was yet to experience. Because the difficulties and ailing of loving someone were something reserved for others, not for her. It was odd to think so, but this fear, this pain Felicity was going through made Mallory thoroughly curious. Amongst other things.

 

    “Yes?” she whispered, even if it was just the two of them.

 

    “What do _you_ envy?”

 

    It took a couple of moments of pending silence for her to come to terms with her answer, and not because it was a hard one to figure out, it was merely a hard one to admit. In the midst of the early morning, when sunrays began to creep in through the clouds, Mallory felt the taste of bile on her tongue; and a darkness she had rarely caved into.

 

    “What do I envy, you say?”

 

    Felicity nodded, already suspecting the answer.

  
    “I envy _you._ ”


	9. Same As Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I was not at all expecting to get this done so quickly. I guess I was somewhat driven by something personal that I will address real quick and just once; haven't you guys done something out of pettiness knowing the exact result it would have and still be upset when it came back to bite you in the ass? Because, same.
> 
> Let us all see the positive side of things and thank the Lord I am finally writing again. I feel like I've shaken off all the rust and I'm finally back doing what I am sort of good at which is entertaining you guys. That being said, there was something I was eager to explore in this fic and it was developing Mallory enough so we could all have empathy for her without justifying her wrongdoings (read: that awful finale, the amount of anti-Mallorys on social media that dwindle the enjoyment of the whole thing) and kind of redeeming her, in a way. If you love Mallory, I am so sorry, I must warn you she is not going to have a good time in the following chapters. Nor will this be a happy, smutty one. 
> 
> There is something I explored on one of my blogs, my indie roleplay blog, to be precise. And that is the amount of negative traits and possible developments Mallory could have, or has. So, since that blog is pretty new and knowing myself I will probably neglect it in a month, I decided to plaster all that here. I hope you like the chapter and lemme know what you think! Lots of Love. 
> 
> PS. Little trigger warning, there is physical violence between people romantically involved so read with caution. I do not condone nor do I approve of domestic violence of any sort, it was a simple outburst I couldn't stop even if I tried to find a way to settle it as I started writing the scene (which was kind of a tough one to write, my first full-blown argument scene ever) just so you know, there is no physical violence directed towards any women. Since I know most of my readers are gals and, sadly and I speak from personal experience too, a great deal of us have experienced it.
> 
> ~ The Writer

    “Get out of the car, Mallory.”

 

    There was not an inch of her skin that did not feel covered in ice, there was not one tiny portion of her body, in fact, that was not aching with the ghost of needles sinking slowly into her flesh. Mallory was loss for words, she even thought she couldn’t move from her spot, uncomfortably collapsed against the backseat of the car; she truly wished she could deduce how, exactly, Michael managed to find her. Perhaps she did underestimate his capacities due to that capricious fling of theirs and the false hope of having known him any better.

 

    At the sight of her, taken aback and frozen before him, Michael reached for the door handle and clicked it open with much delicacy taking in consideration his feral demeanor, stepping back to pull it open. The man tilted his head and stood aside, expecting. There was a tiny hint of softness in his features, now, not like she ever trusted to sight of it. Not now, at least, she could in her bones how much of a terribly idea it would be to do so.

 

    Mallory didn’t need him to repeat himself, not when he was looking at her in a way she hadn’t foreseen after everything she had foolishly told herself they had been through. 

 

    Flimsy, stupid mistake. From a flimsy, stupid girl.

 

    Crawling out of the car was downright torturous with his unyielding gaze fixed upon her like a predator on the prowl, notwithstanding, she brought herself to do it. The feeling inside her limbs was the same one would feel after moving an arm or a leg that had just fallen asleep; shaking out of the numbness was painful, when blood pierced her veins hot and unresting, it was a different kind of static. Once she found herself under the night breeze grown stale and in front of Michael, she realized just how small she was.

 

    The witch was the first to speak.

 

    “How did you find me?” 

 

    “I followed the stench of a half-assed voodoo favour” he limited himself to anwer.

 

    His brow was knitted together, lips pursed in a fine line as inexpressive as the gleam (or lack thereof) in his eyes. Mallory took one small step back, for the sake of some personal space, widening the breach between them.

 

    “So you knew where I was? All along?” she croaked, having hoped her voice was more than a thinning thread, words letting lost as a squeaky little note played on a broken violin.

 

    Michael smiled bitterly, turning his mouth into a crooked line, once again not displaying much emotion.

 

    “No, Mallory. I didn’t know where you were,” he assured her, still grasping on the door hard enough to whiten his knuckles from the pressure of his clenched fingers “For the longest time I thought you were elsewhere, since you had told me, clearly, that you were up to something different…”

 

    “...I guess I was an idiot by believing that!” he exclaimed in a fake woe-be-me voice, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly before he slammed the door shut, she was surprised he hadn’t shattered the window pane by it.

 

    As a reflex she held herself tight, bringing her arms to her chest and hissing sharply as though the door had harmed her, instead. Mallory looked up at him, his expression yet again a blank canvas. She was used to seeing him play coy, trying to conceal his emotions, trying not to show vulnerability, but Michael was beyond his senses now and even though he hadn’t done anything to her, Mallory knew it was better not to risk it.

 

    “It wasn’t hard to figure it out, though,” he continued “the woman who did you the favor was quick to undo the spell from where she was the second the Great Chancellor asked her to; you’ve been sneaking around and about unprotected for quite some time now.”

 

_ Fucking traitor, I knew Cordelia shouldn’t have trusted you _ she thought. 

 

    The anger she felt in regards to Dinah (that was her name, right? Dinah? she had only seen her once before) was precisely what she needed to muster up some bravery. Mallory felt her teeth gritting, the grip of her arms around her loosening. 

 

    “And?” she asked, her voice more audible now “What is it? You’re pissed I’m performing the Seven Wonders?”

 

    Michael gave her no time to add anything else, for once breaking the mask of the unfeeling. His eyes, light as they were, cold as they were, resembled ice more than ever. And she could see them cracking slightly underneath the surface. 

 

    “I’m pissed because you lied to me.” he broke out, not tearing his gaze off of her any second “I’m pissed because everyday, for the longest time, longer than I can remember, you acted in a way much different than who you really were.” 

 

    Her mouth fell agape, and Malory forced herself to regain her composure as quickly as possible knowing it would do her no good and would put her in no better position to pretend to be shocked, or offended. Michael was right, from the very moment their relationship started she had been unrightfully lying to her face in order to keep her coven happy. But she had been far from innocent, Mallory willingly lied to both by keeping both her training and their romance a secret. Cordelia never questioned her, nor did Michael, to be fair her Supreme and mentor was far too busy with her own health to also worry about Mallory and who did or didn’t get in her knickers; it had been a piece of cake to play the part even with the periods of withdrawals and gnawing guilt. “I am no different, Michael.” she stressed, narrowing her eyes at him as to reassure it, prove her conviction.

 

    “I am no different at all,” repeating herself only felt the worse, but she was telling the truth “it’s not my fault you are so very full of yourself thinking no one will ever be capable of matching your abilities and be a competent suitor for the Supremacy, it’s not my fault I know what loyalty to my own kin means, being willing to do whatever it fucking takes to keep them all safe and sound with your vultures are just fucking waiting for Cordelia to drop dead to munch at the remains.”

 

    Mallory’s voice had slowly raised, the tension increasing as she began to approach him. Michael didn’t flinch, he didn’t show any signs of discomfort until she spoke again, somewhat dooming both of them “It’s not my fault you felt entitled to say whether or not he knew me based on your crooked perception of me and the rest of the witches. I’m sorry you were not clever enough to think I’d be capable of having a brain of my own and doing something else besides sauntering right after you.”

 

    Michael’s nostrils flared, that’s how she knew she had, yet again, managed to piss him off. 

 

    “As far as I know you really enjoyed  _ sauntering  _ right after me” he mocked, empathizing the words she had used herself, titling up his chin as a sign of superiority, an attempt to intimidate her; every bone on his face had sharpen by the shadows cast upon him.

 

    Odd, up until that moment the cuirass that covered him appeared to be thinner than this. Here, in the dead of night, in the middle of nowhere, it felt as though they were suspended in absolute nothingness with nothing but their hatred to keep them floating. That’s where it began, wasn’t it? The biting remarks, the hurting feelings.

 

    She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms tighter and choosing to look the other way as a clear sign of ignoring him whilst he continued to make childish comments. Mallory could only take much idiocy, this was the precise kind of crass comment she had seen many men before him make. It felt lesser than him, even if she hardly knew him.

 

    “What is it, Mallory?” he taunted, “You can try and offend me and act all uptight and holy while you ditch the dirt on me? Should I remind you, then, just about how much you enjoyed lying to the face of your dearest Supreme? Huh?” his towering figure approached her, leaving enough space to still look rational, but sure as hell way too close for her liking “Or should I remind you, then, just about how much you enjoyed having me finger fuck you until you couldn’t even fucking speak—”

 

_ “—Get fuuucked, Michael. Seriously.” _ she dragged out. 

 

    Oh, but he had gotten what he wanted. Mallory knew the sight of him she could no longer ignore, he looked pretty pleased with himself with a snicker crossing his face and his head ducked towards her, the lamp post behind him traced a faint halo behind him; she noted just how ironic it was. 

    “If you’re going to continue to act like a fucking child let me know.” she warned him “It’s obvious you are capable of saying and doing anything to make yourself look better, God forbid I let you touch me. It feels like that’s all you’re gonna use against me. What’s next, slut shaming? Are you gonna call me easy for it, too?” 

 

    “Well, if the boot fits.” he trailed off. Her stomach turned and she couldn’t help but feeling the growing regret over having allowed herself to let all of this happen. this was exactly what they meant by measuring the consequences of her actions. 

 

    Silence stretched between them and all she could wish for was for Zoe and Madison to show up. Mallory put two and two together, guessing Michael had already mastered the art of appearing wherever he pleased without much hassle. It stung to think even in regards of the Seven Wonders he was ahead of her. It was already bad enough to think cracks were widening between the two of them, to get to think of the reaction of others if Michael completed the Seven Wonders before because of her. 

 

    It took no genius to figure out what was happening.

 

    “We’re breaking up, aren’t we?” Mallory asked him, flatly.

 

    Michael could only smile sardonically in response.

 

    “What do you think?” 

 

_ Perfect, this it, then _ she thought. For some godforsaken reason she could not keep her eyes on his, she didn’t want to know what kind on look was on his face or what was written behind them anymore. The mock, the almost jocular way in which she confirmed to her that it was over had pained her even more than his tasteless comments have. Someone who made a separation look that easy after one fight simply couldn’t care about anyone at all, Mallory had already suspected he was a narcissistic, self-centered idiot. This was just the reaffirmation. 

 

    “Great, then. It’s over.” she deemed, “Is there anything I can do for you? Are you done insulting me?” 

 

    He shook his head laughing, apparently quite entertained by her desperate need to get away from him. 

 

    “Nah, not quite.” he paused, looking at her in such a condescending way she fought herself not to pounce him and not stop punching him until she saw bright red “I still want to know how, exactly, you’re gonna beat me at the Seven Wonders. Because it seems to me you and all your friends are far too incompetent to even train you properly.”

 

    “I’m not done preparing myself, and neither are you”

 

    “I don’t need any preparation, to begin with” Michael assured her, “You’ve seen what I’m capable of.”

 

    Mallory’s mind was flooded by the images of a boy curled up on himself in a questioning room, sheltering his body from the ruthless beating he was receiving by a cop who obviously had a thirst for blood to quench, if he was capable of hurting a teenager that way. She saw how he started contorting without having Michael moving, glueing his body flat to the ceiling before each of his limbs started breaking and folding in strange patterns. 

 

    It had been Cordelia who showed her the video, herself, the very same day and at the very same time she showed it to Dinah. The Voodoo priestess had clung onto her necklace while she looked at Michael somewhat fascinated by his power, Cordelia warned her that the boy was no good, no matter how badly Ariel Augustus and company tried to convince her otherwise. By the time Mallory watched it, she had felt pity and empathy for the boy in it, she felt the urge of running to his aid, healing each of his wounds shut and taking him in her arms, never allowing for anyone or anything else in this world to hurt him.

 

_ Low blow, _ even the mention of it was a lesser action of his. Even if he didn’t even get to suspect the pain it put her under. Mallory held onto herself, suddenly, tighter than she had when he slammed the door.

 

    Because it was easy to hate him, to bring herself to muster up some courage and regret his every touch, his every sweet words. It was easy to do it when he acted like a monster or took advantage of Cordelia’s weakness. But it hurt the more to see him at his worst, defenseless, hurt, aching for a welcoming pair of arms to collapse into. 

 

    She thought of the beaten boy and his broken voice swearing over again that he hadn’t hurt the butcher. His tears flowing freely and his trembling hands barely shielding him from the damage the policeman was causing  him, he was telling his truth even if it wasn’t anyone else’s. Mallory went back to that very moment and how her small fist grasped at her skirt the same way his had, on the day they met when he escorted her back from the dining hall. It was hard to hold the tears back, then, it was even harder now.

 

    Now she could feel them prickling her eyes, threatening with spilling. It was nearly impossible to breathe now, somewhere outside New Orleans, in front of the most despicable, most endearing person she had ever met. In that moment, seeing him beaten, defeated, and bruised Mallory almost cheered when she saw the awful things he ended up doing to the officer. It almost pleased her to see his head turned into a reddish plastered mush. 

 

    Michael would never, ever know why that tape had that effect on her. Why his awful actions were blatantly justified in front of her even if Mallory was too much of a hypocrite to admit it. She knew exactly what it felt like to defend herself the only way she could, to lose touch with reality and let a shadow take over her body and soul even if it was only in self-defense. She had channeled it, and she told herself upon exchanging quick looks with Cordelia, that maybe Michael could too, for there was no such a thing as a lost cause.

 

_ “It’s okay, Mal. Go with the others.” _ Cordelia had whispered the second they met glances.

 

    It was embarrassing, rest assured, to cry in front of others. Especially when Dinah Stevens, Mallory finally recalled her name, was there with her face examining each of the witches like they were circus freaks. Subtly mocking their emotions and faces of disgust, she would never guess it brought back an ugly memory. To her Mallory was nothing but a little cry baby who couldn’t stomach any gore. 

    Now there he was, the one she would have defended even if only at the times she still could save herself and give the witches a good look. It no longer felt like a war between good and evil, men and women, for Mallory was no longer following the orders of neither. She was following her own, she was twisting and mazing her way through the state of events finding a crack to slip through in order to somewhat save him. Selfless, perhaps, but for once it didn’t feel like she was doing it just for the sole purpose of doing what was right and being in God’s good graces, collecting brownie points like a girl scout eager to get a new badge. 

 

     Tears began flowing, before Michael’s perplex gaze. Mallory wondered, how she wondered, if he knew why. Why she was hurting so badly, why to be parted from him in spite of the horrible way they handled things tore her open so terribly. It felt as though all the hopes she bore were futile, and all she ever wished for in regards of both had been stupid. She went back to that room, to that screen, that boy, that feeling. The desperate need of keeping him safe, to never see him blue again. She went back to the memory of his warm, strong arms squeezing her hard enough to suffocate and the insisting kisses he gave her with not a trace of fear or hesitation. In came the realization that ruined it all, that made her regret everything and anything that had to do with Michael Langdon and how carelessly she allowed herself to play with that fire. 

 

_    Of course I know the harm you can cause _ — she wished to scream through the tears, — _ you’re the same as me. _

 

    “What do you mean then, Michael?” she sobbed, “That you could hurt me?”

 

    There was pain in his eyes when he looked at her, there was an omen to rain as well. His jaw clenched and unclenched, and he opened his mouth as to speak, but no sound came out. But she could tell he was trying to shake his head no. Something clicked and she could feel it, one moment he was someone, only to be someone else the next. Like whoever lived in there was battling for the spotlight, wishing to be left in charge. 

 

    “That’s not what I fucking meant, Mallory. I—” he hissed.

 

    “No, that’s  _ exactly  _ what you meant,” the witch interrupted him, “That is exactly what you meant, Michael. To perpetuate this big breach between the two of us, to reassure to me and to everybody that you’re the Alpha and no one will tear you from your rightful place.” 

 

    “That’s not what I meant.” he shouted, mostly out of frustration.

 

    Mallory waited for him to formulate further, he had his fist clenched in the air, as who squeezes hoping that will bring up the right words to say before they get lost in a train of thought. She waited, and in his inner turmoil she swam, now more than never and damned as they were, fully aware of how much she actually loved him.

 

    She loved him. So much, so fiercely, so mistakenly, that she truly waited for a reply. With pleading eyes that shone even through the dark, frail and exhausted. So much she had to keep herself from running into his arms and beg him to let go of this nightmare the story of theirs was becoming, wanting to toss Ariel and witches alike into the Sun by the sole fact they troubled them. It was the selfless, weak act of stupidity that characterized those sick with love. Someone else’s gaze came to her mind; her words crystal clear and more alive than ever before. 

_     “He should have said no, to his father. He should have told him no when he offered him to move in after what his mom did to him, he should have stayed with me.”  _

 

__ “Then what is it?” she whispered.

 

_ Stay with me, Michael  _ she almost begged. 

 

    “Michael…” she insisted.

 

    Before she could process it his expression went blank again, he was no longer ducking before her. The man started walking backwards and soon enough he turn to start losing himself in the distance, leaving her high and dry. This time she followed, painfully stretching her legs with every saunter, hers being much shorter than his. 

 

    “That’s it, you’re gonna leave me here? With no explanation?” she whined, loudly.

 

    Only then he turned to face her, having stopped so abruptly it caused her to stumble against him, feeling the faintest hint of the warmth of his skin. The look of discontent and almost disgust showed how vexed he was, besides the fact he walked a step backwards the second he felt her skin grazing his, nearly yanking himself from her touch. Not bearing the idea of having her touch him. 

 

    He snarled in reply, fuming “I’ve already said what I had to say, Mallory.” Michael turned on his heels and shouted over his shoulders once he had taken a couple strides away from her “Get your ass back in the car.”

 

    Mallory wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks angrily, scoffing “Wow, you’re really an asshole, aren’t you?”

 

    “Yeah, maybe.” he trailed off, looking at her, still, shrugging his shoulders “But you’re a self-righteous cunt.”

 

    The anger that took her over was fueled only by the fact most of his words were true. Mallory had come to terms in herself, a long time ago, she was not one to cause harm unless she was defending herself; images of herself with her eyes glued to the ground came to the picture, her legs nearly running towards him. If he thought she was done, he was mistaken, there was no much she wished she could said but her head was filled with steam. Every thought she had came out strangled, painfully by the lack of space in her brain. 

 

    It was her mistake, mostly, to be so idealistic, so hypocritical. Witches alike had allowed themselves to develop a  _ holier than thou _ behaviour over the years, ever the patrons of everything light and holy. She could see it in the way Myrtle stared the warlocks down and the way Cordelia refused to trust them wholeheartedly. 

 

    Mallory was out of herself, indeed. He was pushing it.

 

    “Admit it, Michael. For fuck’s sake.” she cried out, “You wouldn’t be half this catty if you didn’t believe to be powerful.”

 

    “Perhaps you are,” he brushed off, “but you know that you being the next Supreme is nothing but bullshit. Cordelia would have told you anything and you, ever the obedient minion, would have eaten it up. No wonder why you act so protective of her, it’s like you were in love with her or something.”

 

    The comment made Mallory stop right on her tracks, and Michael stopped as well. Sighing loudly.

 

    “Come again?” she demanded, blindsided “You think I’m in love with Cordelia? That’s it, this is you being jealous? Come on, Michael, how could you be so fucking blind?” 

 

    He laughed, leaning in close enough to taunt her, to dizzy her.

 

    “You act so kindly towards others and put the blade against your pulse as long as it means that at the end of the day you will have their validation, Mallory…” he whispered, “...It’s pathetic, really, how you depend on what they think of you and just how angelic you act. Doing every single thing they ask of you. Can’t you see you’re their guinea pig, Mallory? Nothing but their monthly sacrifice to their pagans gods?”

 

    “I wonder, now,” he continued, “If you have realized that most of your hate towards the warlocks comes from me being the responsible of Cordelia’s weakening, as though you being the Supreme wouldn’t mean the exact same thing. You don’t want to avoid her demise, you just wanna have it on your own terms.”

 

    Mallory pushed him, forcefully, angry tears reddening her entire face and smudging the faint remains of her eyeliner. The sight of her was a pitiful one, all her demons gathered all at once as to throw her a farewell party.

 

_ “Shut UP, Michael!”  _ her fist him to his chest when she punched him several times in a rabid fit, he seemed to mind it little even when she could already feel the numbness of an oncoming swell taking over her sore knuckles. “Just shut up!” was her desperate plea for silence.

 

    Michael stood back dodging another poor attempt to cause him physical pain.

 

    “Or what, Mallory?” he mocked her, even if his eyes were full with anger, even despise “You’re gonna kill me like you killed your sister? Huh? Are you gonna find a hammer and bash my head open like you did to hers?” 

 

    Every drop of her blood ran could and Mallory stumbled back, feeling her soul leaving her body. 

 

    “Leave, Michael…” was all she brought herself to whisper, the shock too intense for her to really process anything besides the cold that went through her, the widen gaze she sported and the sickening need to make him regret his words.

 

    All he could do was shrug, the malice and sadistic smile he was bearing made him nearly unrecognizable. Mallory jumped him, one more time, grasping at his jacket and throwing her fists and nails wherever they could reach. She could no longer distinguish what he said, all she knew was she wanted him gone. 

 

**_“JUST LEAVE.”_ ** she shouted, a cry piercing the thin veil of the night in a stride. Her eyes were shut close tightly, the scream slowly turning to helpless sobs as something within her cracked in two. All the control, the forgiveness she thought she possessed, the peace… they were gone.

 

    When she brought her eyes to open slowly, she discovered that so was Michael. There she stood, alone in the night with a sole gaunt light shining over her as to symbolize her loneliness. The wound was impossible to be seen, perhaps, but she could feel the blood pouring out, draining her. Gone was his ghost, she thought, sobbing at the realization he took a piece of her with him. 


End file.
